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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144787">the difference it makes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurspaceship/pseuds/dinosaurspaceship'>dinosaurspaceship</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:40:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurspaceship/pseuds/dinosaurspaceship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years ago, give or take, Gerri and Baird Kellman divorced, and Gerri left Waystar Royco for PGM.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’ve done this once before, about 5 years ago, but it did get this far, just traded public insults and threw numbers around until everyone was upset and went home. This time, they’ve been invited to a weekend at Term Haven to prove that they aren’t the barbarians they’ve been made out to seem. Logan and Baird have coordinated for the Roys, a terrible, embarrassingly underthought plan to land a deal no one else wants. So they've all flown to an old mansion on Long Island to pretend to be something they very much are not. </p>
<p>Logan does his grand march across the lawn with Marcia and Shiv, while Roman and Tom slowly follow behind. Roman gets a small thrill out of seeing Baird stiffen when they’re close enough to see Gerri and the rest of the Pierce welcoming team. He doesn’t remember their divorce well, but it was always made clear to him that Gerri made out much better than Baird. She ended up the CEO of the liberal, highfalutin, older Waystar, and doesn’t have to live with a sad, philandering shell of a man and his tortoise anymore. He doesn’t hate Baird, he seems like a competent lawyer and he has always been a steady and rational balance for Logan. Mostly he feels bad for the man, clearly he made a pretty big mistake and paid quite the price.  </p>
<p>They’re all herded into a lounge for cocktails and opening gestures, which Roman finds to be embarrassingly trite. It is some small comfort that the Roys' penchants for bluster and showmanship is equal to the Pierces. </p>
<p>The strategy, as it was outlined by Logan before they left for the helicopters, requires each Roy to manage their assigned Pierce into a sell vote by the end of the weekend. Roman was assigned Naomi. His failure wasn't an option, except he honestly would prefer the deal to fail, so he wont be too torn up when he once again disappoints his father.</p>
<p>While everyone milled around, he did try and approach her, an attempt at building rapport, but was so readily rebuffed he thinks he’s going to just call a wrap on the whole idea. He’ll just spend the weekend drinking their booze, maybe try and come up with a new way to screw over Kendall. </p>
<p>Frank catches his eye and gives him an encouraging nod. Always the babysitter, trying to get him to follow his orders, perform better.  He offers a subtle but lewd gesture in reply.</p>
<p>“Careful, Nan hates crassness.” Gerri warns from behind him. </p>
<p>He spins around and faces her, “Gerri!” He opens his arms as if to hug her but then realizes his relationship to her is totally through stories. He’s seen her around, at events and society things, but hasn’t actually talked to her since Thanksgiving before the divorce, when he was 17 or 18. Her expression indicates a hug is not the right move, so he pats her shoulders and drops his arms.</p>
<p>“Roman,” she greets him. “Congratulations, heard about your new title, co-COO, very exciting.”</p>
<p>“Oh great,” he smiles, “I thought my memories might have just been tainted by years of Baird’s whining but nope, memory was right, you are still a stone cold killer bitch.”</p>
<p>“Such charmers you Roys,” she’s glancing around as if making sure no one is catching her out of her role. Likely she isn’t expected to waste her time on him.</p>
<p>“You love it, I can’t imagine your day contains any fun, managing these turkeys, all dressed up like they just stepped out of a cover shoot for <i>Constipated Monthly</i>.”</p>
<p>She smiles a little at that and he feels a little brighter. “But I do think you should know, we understand your departure, no hard feelings, twenty years is the "bury the hatchet you used to crack my skull open and fuck me with" anniversary in divorces right?” </p>
<p>The absurdity of it makes her smile, “You know, I hadn't heard that.”</p>
<p>“You talked to Baird yet? I was hoping he might piss his pants when he saw you.” He pokes.</p>
<p>Her face tightens a little, “You all insist on some sort of drama even about the mundane, it must be exhausting.” </p>
<p>“Sure, you don’t care , didn't do a little dance after his thing with, oh god what was her name ended.” he tried but all she does is shrug and look around like he’s boring her. "Tiffany," he almost shouts, and he sees her flinch a little, knows he's rubbing at something still a little sore. </p>
<p>He follows her line of sight and sees Shiv headed their way. Gerri paints on a smile and welcomes her when she approaches.</p>
<p>“Gerri, you’re looking well,” Shiv says, in an unreadable way.</p>
<p>“Thank you Siobhan, you look lovely. The last time I saw you must have been your wedding, how’ve you been? How was the honeymoon?”</p>
<p>“It was great, fresh air, peace and quiet, a lot of time to decompress and relax.” She looks over at Roman, “Dad said he was interested in your thoughts on something,” staring at him expectantly. </p>
<p>“That would be a first in thirty seven years, but sure. Play nice.” He smiles at Gerri, “Good talking to you Ger.” </p>
<p>He slowly makes his way over to Logan and gets a slap on the wrist for disobeying the mighty plan. Naomi is wrapped up in conversation with a random Pierce he doesn’t know and Nan, if his father wants him to interrupt that, he is out of his mind. Instead he just slinks off to the corner with a whisky trying to not screw this up for the family by talking to anyone he might laugh at. </p>
<p>They’re all set free after less than an hour. It’s a small relief but he's trapped on the compound for the whole weekend and he's just getting the sense for how terribly boring this will be. It’s insufferable to be here alone, he wishes Tabitha was still talking to him and came along. At least then he'd have someone he could talk to who didn't think he was a complete fucking waste of space. His mind is ferris-wheeling, and he knows he'll drive himself insane if he tries to stay in his room. Even with his phone he doubts he'll last 10 minutes. </p>
<p>It seems rude at first to just wander the halls, but why else would they invite his whole family to their compound if they didn't want them to enjoy it. He knows they have no desire for them to enjoy it, they're just showing off the value and prestige of old money, what all they've built, but he'll wander nonetheless. If he happens to find his way outside and see if some of the staff has cigarettes or better yet weed, all the better. He takes a turn into an identical hallway and follows the terrible runner towards what he believes to be the back of the house. It’s a minor achievement when he sees a doorway with natural light, heading towards it full steam until familiar voices slow him down.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t make sense,” Gerri says, clearly frustrated and trying to win and end the conversation at the same time. </p>
<p>“We both know some members of the family have a desire to sell. This could be really good for you. I just want to make sure any of the animosity you feel for the firm isn’t going to play into this deal, it could be good for all of us.” Baird is stumbling through his words, clearly sent on this ill advised clarification task without much thought. </p>
<p>“Well thanks for letting me know what you think will be good for me, Baird.” It’s a tone so chilling, Roman is surprised Baird is still standing not just shattered into a million pieces from the intensity of her glare. </p>
<p>“G, that’s not what I meant, I’m just, this is an impossible situation for me, you must understand that.” His pleading sad tone not helping his case. </p>
<p>“I think for both of our sakes, I’ll just forget this conversation ever happened, and if Logan wants to try and play games or fuck this deal up himself, he’s welcome to come talk to me himself.” </p>
<p>Roman hears her steps coming towards him too late to properly hide or get out of the way. When she steps into the hallway she’s surprised to see him there. “Oh fuck,” she says in surprise. </p>
<p>He smiles at her, her returned glare makes his smile bigger. “He piss his pants?” </p>
<p>She smiles a little at the jab, clearly their interaction was annoying enough she’s willing to admit her frustration with him. “Still a little creep aren’t you? Just hovering in doorways, listening in like a little pervert?”</p>
<p>“Excuse you, I’m a big pervert.” </p>
<p>She laughs a little and it surprises him how good it feels. </p>
<p>“He’s an idiot, but I’m pretty sure Dad is legitimately scared of you, more likely he's going to talk to Nan than he is to talk to you.” </p>
<p>“Well they don’t really need me to broker anything, clearly the family is open to it enough to invite you to the house. All on you now,” she says patting his shoulder as she passes him in the hallway. </p>
<p>Roman reaches out and touches her elbow as she passes, very lightly and quick just to get her attention, but not to seem threatening or rude. “Do you want to bother him a little?” </p>
<p>Her questioning face indicating she doesn’t know who he’s talking about, “Baird, and Dad too, but mostly Baird, if you want, I know what would fuck with him, just sit next to me at dinner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Naomi tells him to fuck off directly this time and he’s 100% out on the deal, hiding in the library and his room until dinner. Scanning the bookshelves, he wonders how many of these books they’ve actually read, he suspects it’s a pitiful percentage, but he can't find one he's even touched in his life so he doesn't have much ground to stand on. </p>
<p>Nan summons them all to dinner and he just sits at the chair closest to the door across from Baird and one of the awful Pierce kids. To his genuine surprise Gerri slips into the chair next to him and he can hardly hold back his smile. </p>
<p>He leans over and whispers, “Bold choice, I knew I liked you.”  </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes but can’t help notice Baird is watching them like a hawk. Kendall is looking shaky and wired like he did from 22 to 27. Roman tries not to grind his teeth, trying not to think about how this night might end with Kendall drowning in his own vomit or a nosebleed that lands him in the hospital. </p>
<p>Once everyone is seated, Nan presents dinner, the theatrics culminating in Naomi’s performance of grace via Shakespeare. He doesn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, “If I had to sit through this with any regularity, I would be on whatever the fuck Kendall’s been taking, Jesus.” He says it quietly enough that only Gerri can hear, she smirks, but doesn’t reply. Her attention is on Nan, ever the good servant to the family. </p>
<p>When food is served and the Pierces are distracted by his father and Marcia’s cold war, and Connor’s lunacy, he leans into Gerri a little more than necessary, “I’m thinking of causing a scene, do you think anyone would notice if I just started masturbating here at the table?” </p>
<p>It must have caught her off guard because she can’t hold back a laugh, garnering some looks from the others on their end of the table. “You think something less extreme? Okay what if I announce I am a robo-sexual? Do you think that would tank the deal or help the Roy cause?” </p>
<p>“I think, you think people are much more interested in your sexual life than they actually are.” She whispers back. </p>
<p>“Oh please, everyone's interested in fucking me.” He smirks when he says it, winks at her and he’s surprised that she may be blushing a little. Her eyes dart away from him across the table and down to survey others' observations of their exchange. Everyone is caught up in their own petty conversations, they don’t seem to notice them at all, except Baird. Whose glare is something he’s never seen before, who knew that Baird had that much intensity left in him after all these years. </p>
<p>He leans back over to tease her a little more, see if he can make Baird’s face the color of a stop sign, but their attention is drawn to Logan and Nan, discussing succession plans. It’s a shit show after that, Shiv playing all of her cards, Kendall looking manic and dazed, Logan losing most of his credibility, his little game with Gerri is dropped in the fray. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They apparently didn’t totally fuck the deal, which surprises him. Baird and Kendall spend days building the offer, still fighting about the numbers on their way to Argestes. Roman was asked to sit this one out, Shiv going in his place, which was surprising given her latest fuck up. He stays in New York with Frank, reviewing SEC and FCC filing requirements. </p>
<p>He’s been getting updates throughout the day from Shiv and Kendall, and assumes it’s them when his phone rings at 11 from an unknown caller. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” </p>
<p>“What a terrible way to answer the phone, were you fucking raised by wolves?” </p>
<p>It’s a voice he recognizes, but doesn’t really believe, “Gerri?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” </p>
<p>“How,” he starts but decides against it, “What can I help you with, Mistress of All Things Liberal and Bitchy?”</p>
<p>“Ever the charmer,” she sighs, “You aren’t here right? Shiv said you’re in New York?” </p>
<p>“Yes, you are talking to a proud member of the home team. You just calling to mock my shitty position in the company or?” </p>
<p>“It’s pretty clear they’re all hiding something, they’re in panic mode I can tell. And Logan has asked Nan to come out to sign tomorrow. I don’t trust Baird or Shiv and Kendall is a fucking baffoon, but if I'm going to advise on this deal in the next couple ours, I need info, and I'm desperate enough to come to you. What is going on?” </p>
<p>He weighs his options, he doesn’t know why he feels like he can trust Gerri more than anyone at Waystar, but there is a chance if he tells her what he knows and it gets back to Logan, he’s fucked. But he doesn’t actually think this deal is a good idea, and it wouldn’t be terrible for them if </p>
<p>“I’m not there, I can’t tell you what’s happening on the ground,” he starts. </p>
<p>She interrupts, “Roman, I will owe you a serious, no questions asked, redeem any time, hell of a favor, give me something here.” </p>
<p>“There’s a story, credible, I bet you could put it together with your past experience at our fine company, but we’ll be facing some mighty bad press. Press your boss would not like. Press my father would like to get cover from by signing the deal now before she knows.” </p>
<p>“Fuck,” she breathes it out into the phone, “okay.” </p>
<p>“It can’t come back to me,” Roman clarifies because he is a little scared he might have just fucked himself for someone who doesn’t give a fuck about him. </p>
<p>“Obviously, no, seriously, thank you for this, I owe you one.” She sounds genuine and he’s washed with relief. “Good night, Roman,” she says and the line cuts out. </p>
<p>His body feels heavy but the adrenaline is still pumping. He isn’t sure if he just fucked over the company or saved it, but it felt like the right thing to do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nan refuses to sign, gives them a huge fuck you and fuck off. Logan is pissed at everyone, but holds it together enough to ship everyone off to win over shareholders while the story trickles out. Roman visits Lady Caroline, brings Shiv along because Kendall’s fucking worthless and in puppy love with Naomi, who keeps showing up whereever they are. </p>
<p>His mother makes a point to prove to him that their father cares more about high value real estate than Christmas together, which is very maternal of her. The deal is made, the family ties a little worse for the wear, but they return to New York as usual, a little more aware of the perpetual trauma their parents can perpetuate. </p>
<p>He gets a stupid idea on the flight back, pulls up the unknown number that Gerri was calling from and tries to text it. </p>
<p>
  <b>R:   What if I asked you to falsely report my death on PGM. For my favor.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   I don’t fuck with the news. Will have to be something else. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   Well I’ll keep thinking on it then.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The executive floor meets at Logan’s home to watch the 60 minutes report. It’s about as bad as he expected, the conversation of culpability going no higher than Baird and Bill. But all hell breaks loose when Shiv announces the Senate committee summons. </p>
<p>He's not sure if no one trusts him enough to testify before Congress or he actually is well suited for this Turkey deal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>R:   Testify before Congress for me? </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Fairly certain they’re looking for the person whose name is in the invite in most cases. Don’t think that will work. Are they really pinning this on you? </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   No, surprisingly I am being shipped out of the country for this whole shit show. Got put on the Turkey team with Karl and Laird. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Well that’s not all that much better is it. Good luck.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s not like the pitch is going well when the guys with the guns show up, clearly having dispersed his security team. Over the hours they were held in the ballroom, the panic faded in and out, peaking every time he’d catch a glimpse of an assault rifle or someone being manhandled out into a hallway never to reappear. </p>
<p>If he had to compare, he’d say he held up better than Karl and Laird. They make the deal, shake hands and are freed. But the second they get out of the room, finally freed and escorted to the embassy, he takes a breath and knows the deal is shit. Eduard has worse coke energy then Kendall and everyone was too easy to please, he knows it's fake shit. They have a lame ass lunch with the Ambassador and are ushered to a jet to take them to Dubrovnik. The absolute last place he wants to be in this moment is trapped on a boat with his family waiting to hear who was going to get left for dead. </p>
<p>A Waystar employee greats them in Croatia with new clothes and phones. Roman gets exhausted just looking at his inbox and message list. It’s a shitty van ride and a seemingly endless boat ride to meet the yacht, so he relents and scrolls through, surprised at some of the people who reached out. One really caught him off guard. </p>
<p><b>G:   ATN is reporting you’re being held hostage at a Four Seasons? </b><br/>
<b>G:   If you need anyone to talk to, I have contacts for a couple great therapists that deal regularly with war correspondents, etc. Let me know if you need anything (it won’t count as a favor)</b></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He isn’t quite sure what to reply back. He’s preparing for all the shitty things his family will say, how his dad will just pat him on the back and tell him to buck up, where is his sense of adventure. It’s nice, that Gerri would suggest actual support, there is no chance in hell he will take her up on it, but still it’s nice. </p>
<p>Everything just slowly creeps more and more towards terrible. Logan is unhappy to hear the outside money is a bust, and needs someone to take the fall for his misdeeds. Breakfast is miserable, and Roman comes out of it fairly certain it’s going to end up on Tom. Baird does a poor job defending himself, but he also could have powerful allies if he tries to turn on the family. Not a man known for his loyalty to Baird. Frank, Karl, Gregg, are all too small of fish, and even though Tom is equally small, he was, be it ever so short, head of cruises. It seems insane that Tom or him or Kendall would have to pay for something that happened in the 1990’s, like they, fresh out of college, devised a massive corporate cover up.</p>
<p>He wanders around the boat for a couple of hours, tries to sleep but can’t seem to quiet his mind enough to get any rest. There off the coast of Greece, and while he thinks Kendall’s plan is stupid, he does have cell reception again. </p>
<p>He drafts his reply for a couple of minutes, but feels pretty successful when he sends it.  </p>
<p>
  <b>R:   going to be trapped on a death cruise with your chickenshit of an ex-husband and my disaster of a family,  not enough therapy in the world could help me… </b>
</p>
<p>She doesn’t reply before they get back out of service.</p>
<p>Dinner is tense. Roman isn’t sure if it’s a worse sign that Kendall is willing to make eye contact with him, that he is saying it’s okay. He can’t tell if he’s high or just out of his fucking mind for agreeing to this.  </p>
<p>There is an awkward day, while they wait for Kendall to metaphorically walk himself to the gallows, but physically fly back to New York. There isn't much stress from everyone on the boat, tension eased by the reassurance they wouldn't have to be the one caught with the bag, but the looming events weigh on everyone. Then utter madness erupts with Kendall’s announcement. Panicked calls and frantic coordination gets to New York that night, Logan dragging them to his home office. It’s hour three of listening to his father planning to bury his brother. The sheer number of stories Logan has in his pocket is disturbing, that he'd have so much blackmail against the family keyed up at the ready. He can’t imagine the number of things they have on him for anytime he decides to go rogue. </p>
<p>He tried to call Kendall three times on the way back to New York, Shiv did as well. Strategically, Roman understands why Ken would do this alone, in the last coup he bailed pretty hard, pretty fast, but he still hates that he didn’t bring him in on his plan. He did it with Cousin Greg. </p>
<p>It’s a week of constant stories about Kendall’s substance abuse issues, then a week about his erratic behavior and the constant power struggle he’s perpetrated against his father. </p>
<p>Frank lets it slip that a couple big investors insisted Logan should resign in face of the scandal to begin with and it's all he can take. Roman decides he doesn’t want to play his dad’s games any longer, turns of his phone and leaves his fathers home in search of his brother. Since Kendall isn’t answering his calls, he ends up sitting outside his door, waiting for him to come home, just to talk to him. He’s half asleep when he comes through. </p>
<p>“You shouldn’t be here,” Kendall says, very serious.</p>
<p>“Hi bro, good to see you bro, how are you?” he says, but answers his own question in a mocking Kendall voice, ”I just pulled my dick out in a knife fight. But I just love getting shanked by my dad in every paper of record, so things are pretty good, no reason to call or text.” </p>
<p>Kendall opens the door and leaves it open enough that the invitation in is implied. He stands up and follows him in, standing in his foyer while Kendall frowns at him. </p>
<p>“I’m not going to talk to you about any of this. You shouldn’t be here.” </p>
<p>“I’m not here for Dad. I’m here for you, I want this to stop, I want to help, I just don’t know what to do.” </p>
<p>“Go home and let this play out, go be COO.” </p>
<p>He tries for another 5 minutes but can’t get anything out of him. He seems completely shut down, more sober than he’s ever seen him. There isn’t much to argue, he knows his lawyers, the Waystar lawyers, Logan, Shiv, would all lose their minds if they knew he approached Kendall right now. There is a shareholder vote in 4 days. Finally someone else will be able to do what their vote of no-confidence failed so epically. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leaves after the vote. He’s not sure he’d be able to withstand whatever madness or illness will befall his father after he is removed from his role as Chairman of the company he built from nothing. After 20 minutes alone in his apartment, too scared to turn on the tv, he dares to check his phone. There are a million messages, but none he feels actually compelled to read. Instead he opens an old conversation, reading through all the silly suggestions and absurd requests he's made over the last 2 months and it makes him smile. It strikes him, now would be a time he could actually use a favor. </p>
<p>
  <b>R:   You could kill me? I think it’d be fine legally cause I asked for it, and you do owe me a no questions asked favor, so you should be in the clear, like that German cannibal and his friend. </b>
</p>
<p>She doesn’t reply right away, but his phone rings a couple minutes later. He’s surprised to see her number pop up. </p>
<p>“And what do I owe this pleasure on such an auspicious day for the Roy family?” He says, mocking mostly himself, but also curious about her interest.</p>
<p>“Where are you? I imagine there’s a war room somewhere you’d all be fighting this.” </p>
<p>“I’m sure there is, I’m just not there. I’m at home, alone.” He doesn’t know if he says it to reassure her that no one else was around to know about their conversation or if he just wants her to know more about how he is, how he is feeling. </p>
<p>“Your father just had his pants pulled down in front of the world and had his lunch money stolen, in a coup that was partially led by your brother, and you are at home, alone, contemplating cannibalism as a way out?” She sounds exasperated but slightly amused. </p>
<p>“If not now, when.” </p>
<p>“There will be a board meeting tomorrow.” </p>
<p>“I’m aware.” </p>
<p>“They could vote no confidence in you.”</p>
<p>“Hence the thoughts of cannibalism,” he quips back. </p>
<p>“Are you fucking stupid or do you just not want the job?” </p>
<p>“Can’t both be true?” </p>
<p>“Roman,” she sighs. </p>
<p>“Stewy hates me, Sandy thinks I’m an idiot, I’m not going to get on my knees and suck their dick to just get fired tomorrow no matter what.” He’s resigned to the fact the moment the votes came in. </p>
<p>She clears her throat, and hesitates before asking, “You aren’t actually going to hurt yourself, are you?” </p>
<p>It knocks him back. “God no. No. I was just joking.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but that’s how it is with you, you make jokes of the fucked up shit you’ve actually seen and done. I just,” she pauses like she’s about to admit something she’s not fully comfortable with, “I panicked for a second, that you might turn up damaged, or god forbid dead tomorrow and I missed you reaching out. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” </p>
<p>“I promise, I’ll be safe and sound, just lying in my bed all night thinking about you and your pearl necklaces, chewing me limb from limb, don't worry yourself about little me the creep.” </p>
<p>“I hope you get fired tomorrow.” </p>
<p>“Oh, I’d make you regret that so fucking hard, just image the havoc an unemployed Roman Roy would wreak on your inbox, you’d hire me at PGM just to keep me occupied.”</p>
<p>“Even considering hiring you would probably get me fired.” </p>
<p>“You couldn’t handle the chaos I would bring to your stuffy, sad office.” </p>
<p>“What, just covering all surfaces with your ejaculate and crushed Zoloft?” </p>
<p>“You get it.” He laughs. </p>
<p>“Have you talked to your brother?” she asks, tempering his laugh.</p>
<p>“Tried, went by his house, but he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t even look me in the fucking eye.” </p>
<p>She hmms at that, “Probably for the best. Also, some lawyerly advice, don’t tell anyone you did that ever again.” </p>
<p>“Aww, protecting me from myself in so many ways tonight. Keep that up, I might even think you like me,” he pokes. </p>
<p>“Of all the Roy children, I have always found you to be the least repugnant.”  </p>
<p>“Now you’re just being a tease,” he says leaning back on the couch. He hasn’t flirted with someone, genuinely flirted to flirt, in a long while. It hits him that it's a little strange he's getting so much pleasure out of this when the person he is flirting with is his dad’s lawyer’s ex-wife. When he was growing up, he always thought of Gerri as a MILF, but after the divorce Baird and Logan talked so much shit he started to believe she was the total bitch of their stories. </p>
<p>She laughs, but he knows he’s been pushing his luck already and likely will not get far if he goes further. “You think there’s any way my dad comes back from all this?” He asks genuinely curious to get the perspective from someone on the outside.</p>
<p>“5 years ago, yes, 2 years ago, maybe, this year, I don’t think he’ll get jail time, but with Me Too and his weak Congressional testimony, I don’t think so. You should never count out an asshole though. It doesn’t help that there is an addiction crisis happening in his country and he’s running stories and spending his own money to cover the fuck ups of  his clearly struggling son. Stewy and Sandy know what the fuck they are doing. This is Michael Eisner at Disney, except dead hookers, Mo-Lester, and a stagnant share price. Everyone can recognize the impossible success your father has brought to the company, but when the market has had it's day with you, sometimes you just have to stay gone.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the disappointment  is clear in his voice. “I’m not saying he shouldn't be the one held responsible, I’m just sad that this thing, this terrible, toxic thing, he spent his entire life building is just going to not be his. Like obviously it will be his money, and shit, but fuck there goes the empire, you know?” </p>
<p>“Maybe it’s a good thing?” She says optimistically. </p>
<p>“Maybe. Or maybe it kills him. Maybe it kills us all. Fuck, I just don’t want to be like Connor.” </p>
<p>“I think it’d take some serious brain rewiring for that to happen. You’ll figure it out. I’ve seen you dodge and roll with a lot of punches, both literal and figurative over the years. You'll make it through this if you just don't lose your head.”</p>
<p>“Hand you’re dealt and all that. I should probably at least send a grovel-y text, try and suck some dick if they're offering, see if at least they let me keep the board seat,” he’s surprised he’s actually disappointed to ending the call. “Talk to you later,” he says without really thinking about it, but can’t take it back once it’s said.</p>
<p>“Goodnight Roman,” she says softly before the line disconnects.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stewy pulls him aside about an hour before the vote and asks him to stay on as COO, which is a total fucking surprise. </p>
<p>“We don’t want to seem like we’re stealing the place from the family. Obviously, Ken is fighting the company in a way, so we can’t, right now at least, offer him a position. But you are a Roy, with surprisingly no baggage, it’s not a totally fucked idea to keep you on. Now, I know your dad might have asked you to resign as a part of some short-sided coup, I’d suggest, you consider where the power really resides at this point.” </p>
<p>“And why the fuck would I want to work for Sandy?” he asks, not sure really why he’s putting up a fight here. </p>
<p>“Money, babe, money and power, you’re greedy and not fucking stupid.” Stewy pats him on the back. </p>
<p>After the board meeting, in which he agrees to stay on as COO and Sandy get approved as Chairman, he just goes back to work in his office. Finishes out a day of work and refuses to answer calls from his Dad, Frank, or Shiv. The communications department sent out an internal email shortly before 4 pm, announcing the leadership changes. It was within minutes he was being hit up from the Logan loyalists, being identified as another traitorous son. It makes his head hurt and stomach tight, so he does his best to ignore his phone and drink one too many glasses of scotch. </p>
<p>One text did come in, that made him feel a little better, a text from Gerri.</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Good for you. Must give a hell of a blowjob. </b>
</p>
<p>To which he replied:</p>
<p><b>R:   It’s all about how you cup the balls. </b> </p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Is it though? Congrats nonetheless. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   Who am I kidding, you probably have all the tricks, a decade as CEO and two decades dating NYC m/billionaire choads… You could teach me a thing or twenty. </b>
</p>
<p>He doesn’t know when texting or talking with Gerri became his favorite game, but it is. Flirting is the proper term for it, but he prefers to think of it as corporate chicken; first to flinch is the loser. </p>
<p>
  <b>G:   I think that number would be closer to the thousands than twenty, but sure. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   It’s fine, I have a great mentor in Baird, I’m sure he’ll teach me all he taught you. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   He’s got a month before they boot him, two tops. They’ll find decades of rot, blame it on bad council, send him off with pockets of cash to shut up. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   How long you give me? You think it’s just a short reprieve, they just waiting for the stew to boil, then they'll chopping off my dick to garnish the Roy Family death soup? </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   You’re the only palatable Roy left, you’ve probably got until your unpalatable, so I wouldn’t fuck it up if I were you. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   Best advice I’ve gotten yet, don’t fuck it up. Didn’t think of that one… </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Does it help if I say I’m rooting for you? It’d be good to see a Roy figure out how to run a company without authoritarian regime tactics and blatant sexual harassment </b>
</p>
<p><b>R:   Well now I have to rethink my COO strategy, I was going to make butt pats my thing, be the guy in the office that tells a boy he did a good job with a nice swat on the ass, but you’re saying that’s a bad thing… I guess I’ll just have to fall back on open mouth kisses. </b> </p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Careful with that strategy, you don’t know where Karl’s mouth has been. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   Hahaha. Fine. Backhanded compliments and good ole boy shoulder pats it is then. Stodgy WASP corporate bullshit wins again, always keeping the young, game changers down. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Get some allies. If the people under you like you, it will be harder for them to cut you out. Or don’t and get kicked out on your ass, fuck off to the Mojave Desert, make sculptures with Brad Pitt. Up to you. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   Well if I have anything going for me, it’s my inherent charm and fuckability, so that shouldn’t be hard. Thanks for the advice, I’ll keep it in mind. Have a good night. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   Goodnight Roman.</b>
</p>
<p>
  Things start to feel more normal after a couple of weeks. There are a lot of new faces on the executive floor, some of them young, clearly friends of Stewy, and some old, allies of Sandy. He’s able to get along with everyone, charms the teams, tries to make them laugh and suggest mostly good ideas. He’s built up a better relationship with Stewy, not necessarily trust, but they both seem to see each other as necessary.
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
 The President’s son does something stupid while at college, and it brings up a discussion about the rich buying their children’s education. An article offhandedly mentions the Roy family, noting that while Kendall and Siobhan Roy had successful high school records and Roman Roy’s record was far from spotless. Stewy gives him shit for a week about it. 
</p>
<p>
  The accusation doesn’t really bother him, he knows if he was a nobody he wouldn’t have gotten into the schools he was accepted to and attended. But he’s not nobody. He’s a dumb rich idiot, who’s father is willing to pay what it takes to get his son a diploma with a name brand on it, not caring too much about what his son got out of it. So if people want to make fun of him for being a high school fuck up with a degree he didn’t earn, go for it.
</p>
<p>
  But the articles don’t stop. He realizes it might be his dad’s doing after an article cites an ex-girlfriend’s characterization of their relationship as unpleasant, and him as needy and impotent. Stewy takes pity on him after that one, stopping by his office, “We gotta do something about the negative press.” 
</p>
<p>
 “Oh I don’t know, I think within a couple of days I might be accused of bestiality or child murder, I think that could be great for the share price and consumer good will.” He gives his biggest fake smile he can muster.
</p>
<p>
I’m serious, your dad is straight killing your favorables, reminding everyone you’re a dumb debutant rich boy, who’s always had everything handed to you.” 
</p>
<p>
  “Well what do you suggest, I go volunteer at a soup kitchen? Shake hands with peddlers on the street, offer the public nickel-hand-jobs under a bridge?” He slouches further into his chair, frustrated by the conversation. 
</p>
<p>
"I was going to suggest cultivating a better image, do some society things you normally do, but just be classier, more sensible, less Roman,” Stewy suggests. 
</p>
<p>
“Lovely, so just take in a ballet or two and suddenly New York Media is going to think I’m a whole new fucking person?” He’s not as mad as he sounds, but he wants to emphasize his point. 
</p>
<p>
“Basically yes, but also you could be seen with the right people,” he offers. 
</p>
<p>
“And who are the right people?” 
</p>
<p>
  &lt;&gt;“Certainly not your family. New York elite, preferably intellectual, preferably media, I’m thinking print or TV, no website folk,” 
</p>
<p>
  “So you and your jerk off friends?”
</p>
<p>
  “Yes, but only because they’re the type of people who can help you fight this off.” 
</p>
<p>
  “Fine, give my assistant a list and I’ll see what I can do.”
</p>
<p>
  They agree on attending concerts at the Philharmonic and RSVPing to a couple of David Remnick and AG Sulzberger aligned parties. 
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
 The first two go well, he’s listed in a background photo of one, and no one seems to be more pissed off. He’s at a cocktail hour, for some charity he’s never heard of, watching Stewy glide around the room, like the prince that was promised. 
</p>
<p>
  “And you thought you were charming.” A voice says coming over his shoulders. 
</p>
<p>
  &lt;&gt;He turns, grinning ear to ear, “Different kind of charming, and fuck you, I’m more charming than that fucker.” 
</p>
<p>
“Sure,” she says, smiling at him but then surveying the room, “cause people are lining up that way to talk to you,” tilting her chin towards the small crowd around Stewy. 
</p>
<p>
“Well this isn't my typical crowd,” he defends, a little caught off guard.
</p>
<p>
“What’s the typical crowd? Teenagers who just snorted sertraline and methylphenidate for the first time?”
</p>
<p>
“Basically, anyone with incredibly high or very very low self esteem. Which makes you?”
</p>
<p>
“Uncharmed I guess,” she shrugs.
</p>
<p>
“Well I’ll just have to try harder, I’ve been asked to rehabilitate my image, charm the media elite into believing I’m more a Shiv than a Logan.”
</p>
<p>
 “I’m going to assume who ever advised you of that has not met your sister, because that is shitty fucking advice.” 
</p>
<p>
 “What would you suggest? Submit an op-ed to the Times that just says, “Take me seriously, I’m stupid but its okay my dad said I could have the job.” Would that go over better?” He knows he’s being snotty but he sort of can’t help it when all she does is shit on their plans.
</p>
<p>
 “I think you have plenty going for you and the fact that they are trying to make you in Stewy’s image means they don't know shit about fostering talent. You need people and room to ideate,” she shrugs again, “but what do I know, I just run the most watched and trusted name in news.”
</p>
<p>
 “We get it you have a bigger dick, you don't have to slap me in the face with it.” He knows they both should start mingling, but he really doesn't want to. He’s having too much fun. 
</p>
<p>
“Gerri!” they both turn and see who has called her, a blond woman likely a little younger than Roman headed their way.
</p>
<p>
“Oh god, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, reaching out and touches his arm as she leaves, “it was good seeing you, don’t let them milk too much of your spirit.” Then she releases his arm and greets the blond with open arms and a terrible fake smile. 
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
A week later, Stewy sends him a collection of different press clippings, nothing else. Roman isn’t very sure what to do with it, if it’s approval or a reprieve. Taking Gerri’s advice seriously, he’s been focusing on getting the staff on his side, walking around the office more, learning people’s names, listening to people when they talk in meetings, all the crunchy bullshit. 
</p>
<p><br/>
It’s two more months before anything else comes up, when Stewy stops by his office, “Hey! Do you have a S.O.?” 
</p>
<p><br/>
Startled from his computer, Roman squints at him, “What?” 
</p>
<p><br/>
“Significant other? Are you in a committed relationship?” He says slowly like Roman’s brain is full of soup. 
</p>
<p><br/>
“No why?” 
</p>
<p><br/>
“What if I set you up with someone?” 
</p>
<p><br/>
“No thank you?” 
</p>
<p><br/>
“It’d be great, she’s with ProPublica, very smart, age appropriate, kinda weird like you,” he offers. 
</p>
<p><br/>
“If all that is true she wouldn’t want to date me.” He turns back to his computer, not willing to get into the fact that his past relationships just made him feel like shit all the time.
</p>
<p><br/>
“She’ll be at this thing on Friday, trust me, it will be great,” he doesn’t bother to wait for a response, just walks out of Roman’s office. 
</p>
<p><br/>
“Fucking great.” Roman says the empty room.
</p>
<p><br/>
 
</p>
<p><br/>
It’s a party for some journalism award that Waystar will never win, even with all of Stewy’s new focus shifts. It’s interesting that they’re even invited, but like Logan used to say, “at the end of the day, it comes down to the money.”
</p>
<p><br/>
Stewy isn’t as smooth with introductions as he is with everything else. He gives Elena a huge wind up, and then when it comes to Roman he pitches him like a complete dud. He’s off before Roman can give him any shit. 
</p>
<p><br/>
She gives him a friendly smile, “There must be more to you than just being, “the only Roy left,” or is that your preferred title?”
</p>
<p><br/>
He laughs a little, “Oh yeah, I have it printed on my business cards and everything.”
</p>
<p><br/>
“I always wondered what John Lennon’s kid felt like, carrying that surname, trying to take up space in a field already revolutionized by his father. I guess you sort of get that.” 
</p>
<p><br/>
“Oh it’s great,” he says, but wishing this wasn’t the conversation he has every time he meets someone. Like the only way to talk to him is to talk about his father or his family and his relationship to them. It’s not her fault, Stewy’s stupid joke set her up for it, but it’s still a bother.
</p>
<p><br/>
“You’re with ProPublica, right?” He asks hoping he can shift the conversation towards her interests. 
</p>
<p><br/>
“Yeah.” 
</p>
<p><br/>
“Cool.” 
</p>
<p><br/>
The stilted conversation continues until they’re shepherded into the dinner. She’s very pretty, and clearly very intelligent, but Stewy was wrong about them being weird in the same way. He likes to think of himself as weird because he is comfortable putting every one of his raw nerves on the surface, totally ready for them to be used against him, which makes his choice of language blunt and sarcastic. Stewy clearly identified her as weird because she's a woman who seems uninterested in impressing anyone, but she's blunt and serious. Very different weirds.  
</p>
<p><br/>
He’s relieved she’s at a different table, but already too exhausted to listen to Stewy and his very attractive date for the next hours. The speeches were a small reprieve, giving him the opportunity to stare at his phone and plan an exit strategy. 
</p>
<p><br/>
“Chief Executive Officer of PGM, Gerri Kellman,” says the emcee,  pulling his attention to the stage. 
</p>
<p><br/>
Gerri walks on stage in a conservative, black dress, her hair is pulled back. When she gets to the microphone she adjusts her glasses, offers the crowd a smile, thanking them for the opportunity to speak. 
</p>
<p><br/>
It astonishes him that the woman before him, glamorous, intelligent and clearly well respected, ever had anything to do with his family. He feels a little giddy at the idea of being able to catch her later. Thinking of the conversations they’ve exchanged recently, remembering making her laugh, the thought makes his ears get hot. 
</p>
<p><br/>
The applause at the end of her speech is impressive and satisfying. Stewy leans over to say, “That. Be that.” 
</p>
<p><br/>
 
</p>
<p><br/>
He hangs around, by the bar having found an old college friend to shoot the shit with, but his gaze drifts around the room, settling on Gerri or Stewy or Elena. It strikes him that maybe his father wasn’t very good at this, nor was Kendall. Shiv was right, they were too intellectually insecure to be at ease in a room full of geniuses. A chip on their shoulder about being the ugly, raw, slanted news network, that they carried around like an albatross. The confidence and curiosity of this crowd was well earned and genuine, and he could at least be honest with himself that he didn't belong.  
</p>
<p><br/>
Drinks somewhere louder is suggested and he doesn’t have a reason to deny the change of scenery other than the small hope of catching Gerri’s attention. It’s the longest and drunkest night out he’s had in probably a year. They went to some shitty club and then a bullshit “secret” bar where the password is $100 and a very childish howl. He wonders if Stewy would approve. There are girls and drinks and powders he avoids, but he's happy his brain has a distraction. 
</p>
<p><br/>
It’s the most drunk he’s been in quite some time. He’s poured into a car a little after 3 am, and has no memory of how he got to his bed. 
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><br/>
The incredible pressure in his bladder is the only reason he gets up before 10 the next morning. The light through the windows and lack of food in his stomach making his head spin. He shuffles to the bathroom and then the kitchen to raid his sad days cabinet, settling on a pop tart and sparkling water, taking it back to bed with him.
</p>
<p><br/>
His phone is in his shoe, his drunk mind must have figured it was some new charging method. There’s a text from Stewy, chastising him from leaving without saying goodbye and asking what he thought of Elena. He decides to leave that. 
</p>
<p><br/>
There is a more interesting and worrisome message from Gerri, he can’t explain:<br/>
<i>6:21:37</i><br/>
<b>G:   Aren’t you just the needy little creep I always thought you were... </b>
</p>
<p><br/>
He cringes, physically recoils, knowing the context for that reply is likely very, very embarrassing. He opens the conversation in full and takes a breath, steadying himself. </p>
<p>
 <i>2:18:22</i><br/>
<b>R:   Stewy says I should be more like you, can that be the favor, you make me you?  </b><br/>
<i>2:52:01</i><br/>
<b>R:   You were too fucking good for us. </b><br/>
<i>2:52:45</i><br/>
<b>R:   You knoew that tho </b><br/>
<i>3:13:18</i><br/>
<b>R:   Liked yur speech </b><br/>
<i>3:21:52</i><br/>
<b>R:   so pretty</b><br/>
<i>3:23:17</i><br/>
<b>R:   smart </b><br/>
<i>3:27:097</i><br/>
<b>R:   come over </b>
      
    
  
</p>
<p>
Not his best showing.
        </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes him until noon to get the courage to text her back. He considers not saying anything but worries the next time he sees her in person he’ll word vomit all over her. Trying out a series of different messages: </p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“I might have had a little bit too much to drink.”</p>
<p>“New phone, who dis?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He settles for what he thinks might get him a little off the hook. </p>
<p><b>R:  </b> Can I cash in my favor? Forget that I seem to have a drunk texting streak and last night never happened? </p>
<p>He wants to throw his phone into the wall once he’s sent it, second guessing himself. He’s used to hating himself, used to the consuming claws of shame scraping his skull. But this is hotter, slimier, like his face is on fire and his arms are squishy.</p>
<p>The torment ends eight minutes later, an eternity but honestly a pretty quick response if the circumstances were different.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   No dice. </p>
<p>It’s a gut punch. What was he supposed to do with that? </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Please?</p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Never. Thinking about having it framed.</p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Laugh it up. But the next time you get tipsy at a party and too handsy with whatever two bit NY millionaire you’re fucking on the way to the car, it will be ATN’s top story for 4 blocks. </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Better than the typical shit you peddle in. </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   I can’t take you or your threats seriously now that I know you actually drunk text women “come over” at 3 am like some horned up frat boy on house arrest.</p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Does that actually ever work?</p>
<p><b>R:</b>   With all the other CEOs of major corporations I drunk text? All the time. Got an  A+ rim job from Bezos after a 2 am text. </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Tragic that didn’t come out in the leaks… Would have fixed all your reputation problems with Stewy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He feels a little better, like his guts aren’t going to just fall out of his body if he stands up. He should get up and shower. He doesn’t have anything planned for the day but he feels like a teenager, laying on his bed, hungover, texting a crush. Except he doesn’t have a crush on Gerri. </p>
<p>Last night is mostly a fog, he remembers the club and drinking and there were some girls around who wanted to dance, but he mostly just ignored them, enjoyed feeling shit-faced in flashing lights. It’s a herculean effort confronting the shame spiral but he checks his other open message threads just to make sure he didn’t send out anything else obnoxious. There was a little spat with Shiv but nothing else. In terms of self destructive evenings, it’s not the worst he’s had but certainly one for the books.</p>
<p>He considers clarify with Gerri that he doesn’t want to fuck her. Just a combination of alcohol and jealousy and admiration all getting mixed up in his mind, resulting in a horny desperate text he can’t really explain. He goes as far as to type out a clarification, but it’s bad and weird and makes him uneasy. It’s  not clear to him  if he’s worried about if she’ll be offended or upset or think he’s lying. In the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, he knows there is no chance he could have sent an invitation without having meant it in the moment. And he’s pretty sure she knows that too. </p>
<p>He showers and feeds himself and feels human again. There’s a local theatre playing They Shall Not Grow Old and he’s considering going to it, but mistakenly pulls up his laptop instead and is pulled into work for a couple of hours. </p>
<p>His stomach alerts him to a need to refuel, and he closes his computer, browsing dinner options on his phone. Part of him thinks of trying to go out, but he hates the idea of being out in the world alone. Shiv is the only one talking to him right now and she certainly wouldn’t share a meal with him based on her texts last night.  </p>
<p>He settles on chinese. Once it’s arrived, he pours himself a drink and hunkers down on the floor resting against the couch. He shut all the curtains and puts on  Ken Burn’s Jazz. <br/><br/>It jumps into his head and makes him smile enough that he pulls the trigger, sending Gerri a picture of his spread in front of him, TV on display, along with:</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>The wholesomeness you so readily declined</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Ken Burns and whiskey was what you had in mind?</p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Obviously. what else could I possibly have meant?</p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Well I’m sorry I questioned your virtue. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s a little disappointed she didn’t bite his pathetic bait. He didn’t figure she would give him the out. His attention drifts from the show, considering what is his best next move with Stewy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Say I was to actually be interested in adopting a more Gerri-ish skill set?</p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Law School. Law Review. Risk Associate for McKinsey for 4 years. Waystar Legal Counsel - 12 years. PGM - General Counsel for 12 years, CEO for 8. </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Fucking rude. Obviously, you’re Lebron James, we get it, but I’m a kid playing high school ball who just wants to win a couple more games, so being Lebron James isn’t helpful. </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   You just want a distillation of all my professional experience into a neat little trick that will make Stewy like you more? </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Yes.</p>
<p>She doesn’t reply for a couple of minutes and it makes him worried he’s pushed too far. </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Please?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Blink less. Purposefully blink less and then when someone says something stupid, blink a lot. Don’t say a fucking word, a just blinking stare.</p>
<p><b>R:   </b>That works? People get fucked by that.</p>
<p><b>G:</b>   I think the glasses help but yeah, it throws people off. You have cartoon character big eyes though, might just freak people out or they’ll think you have conjunctivitis, so might not work.</p>
<p><b>R</b>:   I have normal sized eyes. I have weird eyelids, I talked to a doctor, all the money in the world and apparently there’s nothing to help with it </p>
<p><b>R</b>:   Kendall used to call me Froggy because of them. </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Didn’t mean anything negative by it, it’s part of your charm, just that I don’t think my tricks will work for you the same way they work for me. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wants to bother her more, specifically about what she finds charming, but he feels on unequal footing. She didn’t take the bait before, doesn’t think she will this time either. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of the weekend is quiet, he lets Gerri be, goes to the gym on Sunday and works the rest of the afternoon. </p>
<p>He tries the blinking thing. It works mostly. Most people are uncomfortable when he’s quiet for an extended period of time, so it’s likely more just silence that puts them on edge, but he doesn’t hate it. He tries a few other things as well, and there is a positive shift in how people interact with him. It takes two weeks, but more people smile at him around the office, a few more stop by his office to discuss different business needs and laugh at his jokes in meetings. </p>
<p>Stewy even comments that he seems to be generally well liked around the office, like it’s some magic thing that happened and not something he’s been trying to cultivate through hard work and self control. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s headed home after a lame prospective acquisition dinner and he’s feeling punchy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Bet you’re glad you didn’t put money on that Baird call you made. Just had dinner with the buffoon, hacky as ever, but still on the Waystar payroll</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Management and personnel, isn’t that your job? You’re not just holding off on signing the papers just to win a no money bet I hope.</p>
<p><b>R: </b>  Oh no, you’re confusing us for a company with regular, reasonable operating structures, no Legal, HR, Comms and basically everything, are under sole CEO hiring authority.  </p>
<p><b>G: </b>  So what exactly is your job?</p>
<p><b>R:   </b>I put the Roy in Waystar-Royco. </p>
<p><b>G: </b>  I’d put some more work into that answer, in case someone real asks. </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Is this how you let me know you aren’t real? Did I Weird Science myself a stick-in-the-mud ex-lawyer turned foe turned reluctant friend?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Foe, that’s cute, Waystar was an embarrassing fling I’d rather not think about, not everything is the blood feuds and drama you Roys love to dream about…</p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Not dreaming about blood feuds lately, more  of a bespeckled dames visiting me under the cover of darkness and tricking me into spilling all our trade secrets with insults and whispers about my professional inadequacy.  </p>
<p><b>G:  </b> Stewy still trying to fire you?</p>
<p>He can respect the brush off. </p>
<p><b>R:  </b> Not especially lately, he’s more interested in brand management and various annoying schemes. I think, he might be trying to be my friend.   </p>
<p><b>G:   </b>A horrifying thought.</p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Little good it did Kendall.</p>
<p><br/>Roman made a small, huge mistake telling Stewy he was single. The man turns out to be a relentless matchmaker, and Roman has been set up with a series of very nice, but serious women he has no business being out with. If it were a different circumstance he’d have blown him off, but his family isn’t really talking to him and he doesn’t have many actual friends. There is a little nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Gerri was serious about his need to solidify his roll and bonds in the company. He doesn’t feel at risk, but he doesn’t especially know his value to the team beyond his name. </p>
<p>It would work better is Stewy wasn’t such a terrible read of people. Part of him wonders if there is a record for the number of first dates you can go on in a row where there is absolutely no chance either person wants a second. They aren’t terrible, just awkward and a lot of conversations about things he only sort of remembers reading and movies he didn’t watch closely enough to discuss.  And because Stewy set them up he knows he can’t really be the outrageous asshole he wants to be, so he’s boring and polite and wants to die for two hours a week. </p>
<p>He doesn’t really think anything of it, it’s not like people take his pictures in the streets, and he isn’t sleeping with any of them, just a series of terrible dinners with different NYC professional women. But four weeks on, out of the blue Gerri asks him about it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Are you dating Meg Ewing?</p>
<p><b>R:</b>   I went on a date with Meg Ewing, I’m not dating her. Why?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>She rowed crew with my daughter in college. She’s a good kid.</p>
<p>He feels defensive, the anger comes swiftly after, frustrated that she would frame it that way. It wasn’t the most egregious pairing, him and Meg. They were 5 or 6 years apart, which means fuck-all in your thirties. They both worked in media and were from similar families. It wasn’t a terrible date, but it was clear that she was affectionate and sweet and funny and it made him feel the opposite of all those things. She touched his arm once, a totally normal, flirty thing to do on a date, and it made him freeze.      </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   It was one dinner, we weren’t a good match. </p>
<p><b>G:  </b>Didn’t mean anything by it, just curious. People around the office were discussing your ever expanding list of dalliances, when Meg was mentioned I was curious.</p>
<p>He wants to explain himself, save what little credibility he had, but feels mostly put out by the whole thing. </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Stewy has taken it on himself to find me a partner of ‘reasonable soundness’. It’s been excruciating, </p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Oh I’m sure a parade of young, talented women, is such a burden. </p>
<p><b>R:  </b> Fuck you. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t know why it set him off. Most people think pretty little of him, he’s used to low expectations, but he doesn’t expect it from her. He’s an idiot but he’s not a cad, he can play one sure, but anyone that knows him knows he’s a girlfriend guy. A kind of shitty one because he can’t seem to satisfy or correctly predict another person's needs, but still, disappointing one person is enough for him. But then, he feels a little bad for snapping. </p>
<p>It stays at that for a couple of days. He passes along that the dates are a little burdensome as of late to Stewy, who seemed genuinely disappointed. Roman wonders if this is how Stewy thinks they can build a friendship, like if only he helps find Roman a girlfriend will they have a chance to really connect. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roman’s on the way back from his trainer, when he’s stopped by a stranger on the street, asking if he’s Roman Roy. It’s obvious after the fact he shouldn’t have but he answers positively and ends up with an envelope shoved in his hand. As he reads over the documents in his kitchen, he texts his lawyer he will be stopping by in the morning. His father has dissolved the Trust because of some legal jargon he doesn’t understand, but the sense of it he gets is: he and Kendall are being disinherited. </p>
<p>His lawyers basically fellate him for an hour before explaining their bullshit plan and he while understands fundamentally that they know what they are doing, part of him takes there reassurances that it will work itself out as total drivel. There is a chance he walks away from this with his name, shares, and trust fund and nothing else, Shiv and Connor all the richer for it.  </p>
<p>Logan’s on a tear. He wakes up to emails and texts linking to an article in the NYPost calling him illegitimate. There are photos featured that show Caroline and a dark haired man along with the story, implying she was having an affair with one of Waystar’s ex-executives. From the shitty photos he can’t identify the man, but he would have been long gone by the time he was old enough to remember his dad’s staff if the story is to be believed. His lawyers insist on a no comment policy, which he is happy to obey. </p>
<p>It pisses him off that Kendall and Shiv are radio silent. There have been no texts, no calls, no reaching out through Frank or Baird. Connor has a pull quote in the article, “Roman is my brother no matter what biology says.” Some part of him hopes it’s all true, so he would have zero biological matter shared with the fucking clown.</p>
<p>He spends the morning with his lawyers, because nothing starts off the week like two consecutive mornings in a lawyers office. They’re evaluating the effects the story has on the Trust strategy and determining his PR options. When he finally makes it into the office, Stewy and Karolina try and talk him through the PR strategy they have for Waystar’s needs. They want to keep him business facing, but reduce his personal brands association with the company. No private events or parties associated with the family, no chance for public fights between the siblings, absolutely no interacting with his father public or private. They give him a general list of dos and don’ts which essentially amounts to best behavior and don’t let any tabloids steal your DNA.</p>
<p>“You actually think it might be true don’t you?” He asks when Karolina mentions future legal complications. “It won’t hurt my feelings.” </p>
<p>“You are a little more, I’m not sure the word, sinewy maybe?” Stewy says. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I take after my weird bird boned tiny English mother, dick for brains.” He punches back. </p>
<p>Stewy raises his hands in retreat, “I’m just saying, there are elements of personality and physique that differ between you and your other siblings, that make it a plausible rumor.” </p>
<p>Karolina offers him a sad smile, “I have no doubt you are who you are, but there is a chance there is more coming. And with Logan’s Trust moves, it may be a battle of the wills. I just want to make sure you are prepared for that. Make sure it’s not harder than it has to be because of a misstep early on.” </p>
<p>“Prepared for what? I’ll spit in a cup, pull out some hair, let me know how you want the goods, happy to give it, but I’m not Kendall, there isn’t some dark pile of shit about me out there.” </p>
<p>“Consider maybe he has someone hack your computer, phone, email. There were hundreds of stories he stopped over the years about Kendall, I don’t think there were that many about you, but it’s plausible we are just at the start of some organized attack.” </p>
<p>He ducks his head, “Okay, yeah, just tell me what you want me to do.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a shitty day, a shitty long day, he wishes would just end. He considers drinking until he doesn’t feel anything anymore, but even alone in his own apartment he feels like he’s being watched. He hasn’t eaten anything, but isn’t hungry. He feels wired but also exhausted. All he can bring himself to do is strip and lay on the top of his bed, phone in hand, feeling sorry for himself. </p>
<p>He texts Kendall, knows he won't get a response, but feels like if ever there was a time to reach out, it’d be now. </p>
<p>His phone starts to vibrate in his hand, and he thinks it must be Kendall, finally.<br/><br/>“Hey,” he says, soft and hopeful. </p>
<p>“Hi,” says a female voice he recognizes instantly but is surprised by. He pulls his phone away to check his sanity, but there it is, clear as day, Gerri. </p>
<p>“How are you holding up?” she asks, it’s polite and genuine like she is worried about him.</p>
<p>“Oh just dandy, why do you ask, has something happened?” </p>
<p>“Frank said the Trust was dissolved, and with the stories, I imagine it was a banner day.”</p>
<p>“Certainly one for the books.” He slides under the blankets, resting his back against a couple of pillows and closes his eyes. “You think it’s real?” </p>
<p>“Your mother wouldn’t do anything that stupid. The guy in the photo is Fred Shimes, he was a boring asshole, who your father didn’t really care for either way. If she was going to have an affair and got pregnant, it wouldn’t have been with him. There were plenty of men around that would really be a fuck you to Logan. And certainly many that were more attractive than Fred.”</p>
<p>“Hey that’s my possible DNA you’re calling unattractive.” </p>
<p>“I called Baird, asked him what he thought.” </p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” he settles in a little. He didn’t think they ever talked outside of the girls.  </p>
<p>“He claims he hasn’t spoken to Logan since the chairman vote. But he’s never heard even a whisper of these sorts of rumors before. Figures it’s just posturing for the Trust stuff.” </p>
<p>It should be reassuring, but he finds it a little bit annoying. </p>
<p>“I didn’t do anything. Ken I get, they’re throwing molotov cocktails at each other, peeing in each others faces, but I didn’t fucking do anything. I’m doing the job he fucking gave me to do.” It starts out strong but ends up more like a whine. </p>
<p>“We both know you’ve done things, Logan might not know, but you're not innocent in pulling his company from him. You were part of it, the take over, even if the roll was small. You also fought for your seat, you didn’t just walk away with everyone else. You’re the dangerous one now, your independence means you’re in the crosshairs now.”</p>
<p>“Lawyers have me meeting with my accountant tomorrow, see what I have if I’m totally out. What do you think, have them run the numbers to include being unemployed?”</p>
<p>She tsks at him, “You’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>His stomach growls and she laughs at him, “Eat something you stupid boy.”</p>
<p>“Yes mommy,” he replies in a snotty voice. </p>
<p>She laughs, “You’re insufferable.”</p>
<p>“You like it.”</p>
<p>“You know how I know you’re a Roy, you think you know everything, always right, so fucking smug.”</p>
<p>“Oh please, smug? Humble little creepy me?” </p>
<p>“Incapable of taking any feedback either,” she says, but he can hear her smile through it. </p>
<p>“I take feedback better, than well the metaphor is failing me now, but really fucking well. Try me, let me take your feedback.”</p>
<p>“You should take better care of yourself.” </p>
<p>He’s a little shocked that it’s something so nice. </p>
<p>“Probably true,” he tries to sound thoughtful when he says it, just to really drive home the point. “See, A+ feedback taker.” </p>
<p>“Okay, how about, I think you’re wasting your potential.” </p>
<p>“Sorry I didn’t realize I was talking to my father, fuck Gerri,” he tries to play up the hurt for dramatics, but it doesn’t feel great, to know her honest opinion of him is what everyone else thinks. </p>
<p>“I’d give you a B-,” she chides him and he laughs. “I don’t mean the potential thing as bad, it’s a good thing really, if you’d like to think of it that way. You just have some hows and whys to sort out, and with your father and brother out of the picture, I imagine your motivations are a little confused, but it could be clarifying, this new freedom.”</p>
<p>“Right cause having Stewy’s nose up my ass is surely motivation.” </p>
<p>“New regime lacking in inspiration and mission?”  </p>
<p>“Oh please, do I strike you as someone to be inspired by some corporate bullshit mission statement? I spent my entire life terrified of my fucking father, trying but never succeeding to impress the man. Who, once I fucking try and do things on my own and run the company like a semi-competent gopher,  goes around saying I’m not his fucking son. What the fuck do I do witht that?” </p>
<p>“Find something else to be incentivized by?” she suggests like its the most obvious thing in the world and he hasn’t just showed all his emotional cards to her. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah, like what? The respect of my peers? That’s never going to happen. How much do you think you’ll ever respect me?” he pokes. </p>
<p>“It’s charming you think we’re peers.” </p>
<p>“Fuck you,” he spits with no fire behind it. “A room full of nobodies and muckety-mucks, ten thousand says you like me the best out of everyone there, but I’d be among the least respected.”</p>
<p>“So you liked being liked, use that, I don’t know Roman, I’m not sure you’re going to just be inspired by a single thing you can point to right now. But there have to be things in the world that keep you going and can use as  benchmarks for success, something other than your father’s opinion.” </p>
<p>“A couple things come to mind actually,” he says with a more sly, playful tone. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” she seems unimpressed, like she knows what he’s trying to do and is already disappointed, “and what are those? Blow jobs and stickers?” </p>
<p>“Excuse you, more of a hand job guy thank you.” He pauses and her laugh is reassuring. “I go mental for a good sticker though. Oh and a ribbon, fucking love a ribbon. I’d do anything for a ribbon.” He smiles thinking about it,  “I think I’m starting to understand this incentive thing, work for reward, I could get behind that. You’re right though, money, respect that bullshit isn’t going to work, totally more of a stickers and ribbons guy, I could get a little chart like I’m a 3rd grader trying not to pee myself at recess.” </p>
<p>“Can’t say I have any stickers or ribbons to offer you, but I’m happy you’ve got yourself a little plan there.” Her voice is different, a little lower, but sharper. He’s always felt before like he was the one baiting her, but suddenly it feels like he’s walked into a well set trap.</p>
<p>“I mean, sure, but I believe there was some earlier talk of other items, in the job variety?” he suggests, lightly, cautiously testing out the boundaries of the conversation. </p>
<p>“The amount you’d have to do to earn that, unfathomable.” </p>
<p>“No really, I’m willing to fathom,” he quips back. </p>
<p>“Hush,” it’s a delicate reprimand, telling him playtime is over before they go too far and say what is better left unsaid. There is a short pause, neither of them knowing exactly how to pivot back from the edge of outright flirtation.</p>
<p>“I should eat. Can’t imagine you want to stick around to hear me masticating into the phone,” he says trying to give her an out. </p>
<p>“As pleasant as that sounds, I think I will pass,” she says, maybe a little bit mournfully. “You’ll be okay?” It’s somehow a question and a statement which he finds reassuring, like she is telling him he will be okay, but needs him to say it as well. </p>
<p>“Yeah, no matter who’s devil spawn I end up being, I’ll be okay. Might be poorer, but I’ll be okay.” Saying it makes him actually believe it and he’s grateful to her for that. </p>
<p>“Goodnight Roman,” she says softly in a voice he thinks he could wrap himself in.</p>
<p>“Goodnight.” </p>
<p>
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<p>Karolina actually coordinates a DNA test. It’s a very sober, sterile process where he swabs his cheek and plucks out some hairs, then gets it all vialed up and shipped out. He wants to make a joke about not using his genetic material to make clones of him for sex stuff, but Karolina keeps giving him this really sad look. </p>
<p>“You think I’m an illegitimate bastard don’t you?” he asks her when they’re alone in his office, all the testing supplies sent out. </p>
<p>“I think it’s a big gamble for your father, if he doesn’t think in some small way it could be true,” she says very even and tactfully. </p>
<p>“What’s the downside if it’s false though right? Most places will only report the rumor, in their minds it’s true now no matter what. It’s not like he’s worried about what it will do to our relationship, the lawsuits took care of that.” </p>
<p>“It’s just so mean,” she sighs, like she doesn’t understand it. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” It’s all he can muster. </p>
<p>She reaches out and pats his arm, a small comfort, and then slips out of his office. He wants to hold his hand where hers just was, but feels embarrassed at the thought. With no family communication, and dead in the water dating prospects he can’t remember the last time he’s really touched or held another person. The thought makes him queasy and he tries to shake it free from his mind, focusing instead on the endless email traffic in front of him. </p>
<p>
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<p><b>G:   </b>Are you going to this Cuomo thing?</p>
<p><b>R:</b>   ugh, are you?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Is that an ugh at the idea of me being there or ugh at the idea of it generally?</p>
<p><b>R:   </b>ugh I’ve been being prepped for it all day, like I’m gonna walk into the room and shit on the floor or something. Yes I’m going, are you?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Yes. </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Can I use my favor, you represent both Waystar and PGM? </p>
<p><b>G:   </b>I thought we discussed how it doesn’t benefit you to get me fired. </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Better you than me?</p>
<p><b>G</b>:   I’m sure you’ll do fine. It’s less than 3 minutes, and then just sitting around a table listening to the new media and the print whine at each other. I’m sure you were well prepped and have a thorough strategy, but don’t talk, it’s quicksand. </p>
<p><b>R: </b>  I’ll take that under advisement. </p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Any one from the family reach out? </p>
<p><b>R:</b>   Nope, cold war continues</p>
<p><b>G:</b>   You could play with them a little. </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>I’ve been told not to rock the boat by personal legal counsel </p>
<p><b>G:</b>   Since when do you follow the rules?</p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Grow up, she says, be a leader, she says, head down and put the work in, she says…</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Dinner?</p>
<p><b>R:   </b>The two of us? Tomorrow?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Obviously and yes. </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>Okay, yeah. </p>
<p><b>R:   </b>This isn’t some trick intervention thing right? I’m not gonna show up and you're going to introduce me to my real daddy?</p>
<p><b>G:   </b>Well it might be now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinner? They’ll be in some terrible political pony show for the whole afternoon, maybe she just wants her evening booked so no one else can pressure her into a meal time meeting? He doesn’t want to feel pathetic enough to get pity dinners. She only did offer after asking about his family, there is a chance she just feels bad for him, some transplant godparent thing. That doesn’t feel great either. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The round table is the most painful thing he’s done yet. His five minutes goes well, he actually knows the answers to the questions he’s asked and it’s a surprisingly good feeling. It makes him understand a little why Shiv always studied so hard in school and gets a boner whenever she’s allowed to answer first. Gerri was right, it ends up being a bunch of whining and some mild finger pointing, rich people suggesting to other rich people how best to help each other. </p>
<p>He was hoping they’d be seated together, he and Gerri, but she’s at the other end of the table, facing the same direction as him. Early on he tried to lean back to see if he could catch her eye, but it was an awkward angle. </p>
<p>They have a short break for restrooms and coffee refills. The coffee is terrible. As much as he’s improved his attention span over the last 6 months and worked on focusing, things like this create such an energy build up in him, he just wants to run down the hallway. He paces and empty hallway until they are summoned back, getting to his seat earlier than most. Gerri passes on her way back to her seat and to his surprise genuinely smiles at him and then subtly raises her eyebrows.  He mirrors the expression  and then she is gone. It’s another three hours before they.re excused for the day and he’s not sure what anyone was supposed to get out of the self indulgent exercise. </p>
<p>His escape plan is hijacked by a Bloomberg News representative who has a series of annoying, tangley questions he knows he’s not allowed to answer. He’s on his third try to brush the guy off when he feels a hand on his shoulder pulling his attention away. </p>
<p>“Sorry to interrupt, do you mind if I steal him for a minute? We left some things unfinished from the break.” Gerri says with a polite smile to the Bloomberg fuck-bag, before leading Roman out of the room. “You have to get better at faking phone calls,” she laughs at him. </p>
<p>“Oh I’m sorry I’m not a well trafficked truth dodger, Ms. Kellman, I haven’t gotten to that part of the study guide.” </p>
<p>It’s already 5, but he’s pretty sure she said their reservation was at 8. When she suggested it originally, he figured it’d feel like an extension of the meeting. But he’s uncertain now, as he stands in an elevator alone with her. The smell of her perfume seeping into his brain, making his head fuzzy. </p>
<p>“Drinks?” she suggests as they step off the elevator, and he does his best to keep up. She’s looking at her phone and then back at him expectantly and he realizes that while he texts or talks to this woman nearly everyday, he hasn’t actually been in her presence since his drunken text night. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, “I need a couple after that waste of time and attention.” </p>
<p>She smirks at him, “You did so good, didn’t pee on the floor once.”  </p>
<p>He wants to poke her back, but they’re stepping out to the street and now he’s worried about the logistics of their evening again. She doesn’t seem to have the same concern as she spots an awaiting car, sliding in and waiting expectantly for him to follow. </p>
<p>She’s on her phone again, and he pulls out his for something to do, but his mind is filled with her proximity. It was a bit of fun, their flirty texts. It’s been nice to have a friend who asks him about his day and gives him advice and laughs at his jokes but sitting next to her, in her car, his pulse is racing and his leg is bouncing and it doesn’t feel like a bit of fun anymore. </p>
<p>She asks him something about the discussion from the middle of the day regarding article restrictions and web based advertisers, but he only half hears what she says. He’s trying to rewind and process her words to understand, when she looks over at him. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” she asks, her face a composite of curiosity and amused. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says too quickly, turning his phone over in his hands, looking at her timidly and then away trying to think of a cogent answer. “I think a subscriber model is all they have so they’ve got to use it, but who wants to pay for 10 different papers to get your article access when twitter exists.”</p>
<p>“But you think consumers will do it for entertainment services?” </p>
<p>“I can’t pretend to know how a normos think, but yeah, if you kids won't shut up until you put on their cartoons and dad wants football and mom wants movies, what are they going to do instead, read a book? Watch network television? No they’re going to put it on their credit cards and think about it later.” </p>
<p>She shrugs, apparently accepting his opinion on the topic as enough discussion. She’s back to looking at her phone when he gets the courage to look at her again. He’s charmed by how fiercely she’s able to concentrate on whatever she’s reading. Her brow is furrowed and she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, focused intently on her phone as she types away. </p>
<p>It never crossed his mind before that Gerri choses to work for Waystar and PGM. That of all the different things in the world, all the people to defend or sue, she picked large media corporations. He was born into it, likely wouldn’t have picked it if he hadn’t. </p>
<p>“What’s your favorite part of your job?” he asks.</p>
<p>She’s a little startled by the question and looks up from her phone at him, “What?”</p>
<p>“Why PGM? You’ve stayed there for a long time you must like it,” he tries to rationalize it for her. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I guess I like that it’s stable, tv news isn’t going anywhere. And it doesn’t make me feel sick to my stomach when I think of the global impact it has.” It’s not a glowing review of her job, but it also doesn’t really answer what he asked. </p>
<p>“Sure sure, rainbows and liberal boners and all that, but those are just job stuff, like that could be anything, that’d be true taking out the trash at an Arbys, what is it you enjoy doing there?” </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes a little and shifts, unhappy to be called out for a nothing answer. “I like the people, it’s a good team, lots of people to mentor and develop, there are interesting problems. Things feel new everyday. I don’t know Roman, what’s your favorite part?”</p>
<p>He collapses back into the the seat, sliding down a little, spreading out his legs and laying his head back. “I don’t have a favorite part.” </p>
<p>She shakes her head at him, chuckling, “You’re such a child.” </p>
<p>He feels a little giddy making her laugh, he pouts dramatically, “I’m serious.” </p>
<p>“Oh I’m so sorry, it must be so hard for you, little rich boy, doesn’t want to run his daddy’s company.” </p>
<p>He’s considering a retort when the car stops and she pushes on his leg, indicating he should get out of the car. Stepping onto the street, he’s a little confused about where they are. He gives her space to get out and then follows her to a non-descript door. </p>
<p>It’s not what he’d imagine for a bar Gerri would choose. It’s small, dark, and kind of reminds him of his father’s sitting room. There is a bar and then a series of velvet chairs and couches all paired together. She points to two chairs in the corner and he takes her meaning, heading over to the seats while she hits the bar. Returning with two martinis in hand, she sets his down and then settles in across from him. </p>
<p>“What if I don’t like martinis?” he says looking at the drink. </p>
<p>“Then you can get whatever you want the next round,” she says with a smirk before taking a sip. </p>
<p>He doesn’t hate a good martini but he has always been more of a brown liquor guy. The sip he takes hits him in the face, mouth and throat. “Ohh boy, that’s straight gin.” </p>
<p>“You okay there?” she says, basically laughing at him. </p>
<p>He’s recovering, but feels his face flush, “I feel a little taken advantage of here, you take a man out for one drink, he should be able to walk himself home after. Damn woman.” </p>
<p>“Sorry I was under the impression your father taught you kids how to hold your drink.” Her smirk should be illegal, there’s a lightness in her voice and brightness in her eyes that feels special, something others don’t get to see. “Although passed evidence isn’t in support of that theory.”</p>
<p>He’s grateful for the flush the drink produced, because he’s actually blushing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tries to cover his weak delivery of the statement with a drink, but it’s a a seriously powerful cocktail and he just feels more flustered. </p>
<p>“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she starts and he interrupts her, “or we could not?” </p>
<p>She smiles, her tone still light, “Fine,” she shifts back in her chair, off the attack, “Any news on the paternity front?”</p>
<p>He drops his head to the table dramatically, groaning before looking back up at her, “Can we not talk about it? My life has been 24/7 an episode of Jerry Springer since the story came out.”</p>
<p>Her face softens and she reaches across the table and touches his forearm, “Of course.”</p>
<p>He looks down at her hand on his arm and fights an involuntary shudder. Some weird part of his brain sends a message to his body to lean down and kiss it, which he overrides quickly enough, but the thought still freaks him out. </p>
<p>She moves her hand slightly, rubbing his forearm for a second before letting go, “But you know, if you keep vetoing topics of conversation, we’ll be forced to discuss the tragic waste of time that meeting was.” </p>
<p>“Oh cause in the world of things to discuss you only have, me being a fucking idiot, my dad disavowing our blood relation, and Andrew Cuomo’s please-come-touch-me-over-my-dockers-for-a-friendly-tax-bill party.”</p>
<p>“You’re not an idiot,” she corrects quickly, “you’re just a horny little drunk, who has a very short memory.” She smiles at him after she says it, as if it’s something she likes about him.</p>
<p>“Why thank you,” he smiles, “and please, feel free to have that put on my gravestone. Here lies Roman Roy (maybe not though), horny little drunk, part time creep, full time idiot.” </p>
<p>He likes her laugh, it’s quiet and she has a habit of stopping herself, hiding it by biting her lip or quirking her mouth. </p>
<p>Her glass is empty and he points to it, asking if she’d like another, she gives him a single shoulder shrug and a nod, which he can’t really interpret. </p>
<p>“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she finally says when he continues to stand in front of her like an idiot. </p>
<p>He takes their empty glasses to the bar and comes back with two negronis. He presents hers to her with a flourish, “And now for the best gin cocktail.” </p>
<p>She offers her glass up for cheers, which he accepts, before they both sit back, taking a sip. “Not bad,” she offers him.</p>
<p>“Impossible to please, this woman,” he says, feigning exasperation. “What does it take?” he asks, mostly rhetorically.</p>
<p>“To please me?” one eyebrow raised in a challenge. </p>
<p>“Or impress,” he replies, taking the bait, leaning forward slightly. </p>
<p>“Where’s the fun in just spelling it out?” her head tilts slightly, smirking like she’s just won, her eyes shift down to his lips and then back to his eyes. </p>
<p>He leans forward more, wanting to be closer to her. “Not even a little hint? I know a little close up magic.” </p>
<p>She shakes her head a little, unimpressed but still amused. </p>
<p>He smiles in return, intensifying his stare into her eyes, “I’m not worried, I’ve got time. If this COO thing doesn’t work out, I could make it my life’s new mission, spend every waking hour dedicated to finding what pleases you.” </p>
<p> He steals a glimpse at her lips, then back to her face. His comment sitting in the air, heavy with promise.</p>
<p>“Generous offer, but I don’t think they’ll boot you just yet.” </p>
<p>Roman leans back, “Pity,” he says softly. “It was the first project I was excited about.” </p>
<p>She excuses herself, telling him they should probably head out to dinner when she gets back. </p>
<p>He likes her. It surprises him. She may be the smartest person he knows. She’s well respected. She is sharp and funny and cutting in the way people get after a couple years at Waystar, but she’s feeling and supportive too. He thought maybe he could make this friendship work, a corporate ally, a bridge between their two very different but connected organizations, a tit for tat on intel if needed. But he’s sitting across from her, drinking the stiffest drinks he’s had in quite some time, thinking about touching her hair and the shade of her lipstick, if she’d let him touch her and where.  He is a little creep.</p>
<p>She comes back, resting her hands on the back of her now empty chair, “Shall we?” </p>
<p>He rises, gestures for her to lead, and follows her out the door. Her car is waiting outside, and he opens the door for her, earning him a small smile. Following her in, he overestimates and slides in a little too far, pressing the length of his leg against hers. He apologizes and pulls back, but she doesn’t even look up from her phone. </p>
<p>The ride is quiet, sporadic conversation about work or idiots in the news. At some point, she reaches over and puts her hand on his bouncing leg, stopping it’s movements immediately.<br/>It’s gone before he can really feel it, but it doesn’t stop his mind from obsessing over it. She could have said stop, or kicked him, but she didn’t. He thinks about how high she chose to put it, not on his knee but his thigh. A couple inches further and he stops the thought before he embarrasses himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re seated in a dark corner of the restaurant, which he is grateful for. There isn’t a chance anyone would publish it, but there is a chance they see someone they both know, and that could complicate work slightly. </p>
<p>She orders them wine and he’s getting a feeling she’s more of a lush than he remembers or she’s trying to get him drunk. </p>
<p>“Naomi brought Kendall to a dinner last week,” she says out of nowhere. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” He’s happy for Kendall if he can keep it together and work things out with the woman. Clearly she helped him grow a spine, but they were a dangerous mixing going off of the Tern Haven and England trips. </p>
<p>“Seemed fairly smitten,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. </p>
<p>“Smitten or high out of their fucking mind?”</p>
<p>“It was a very sober showing, at least as far as I could tell, you’d know better, all the years of cleaning him up. But held hands, whispers, all smiles and rainbows.”</p>
<p>They’re food arrives and he’s happy for a little distance from the conversation, something to look at that isn’t her look of pity.</p>
<p>“Good for them I guess,” he says, “I texted him a couple days ago. Nothing.” </p>
<p>“Siobhan?” </p>
<p>“A little, not anything good though.” </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she offers a sympathetic look. “Not to put too hard a frame on it, but sounds kind of like you’ve been through a bad divorce.” </p>
<p>He groans, “Don’t make me think of it that way, I’ll end up sympathizing with Baird, not ready to feel bad for the idiot.” </p>
<p>She gets a smirk shaking her head, “He’s done well for the business over the years, god only knows how he’s put up with the insanity of Logan for all these years. He’s an adequate lawyer.  You don’t have to play up your disgust with him on my account. It’s been a very long time.” </p>
<p>He’s never heard her talk about the whole ordeal, knows it was pretty painful and that Baird felt some impressive amount of guilt for it, but doesn’t feel like that will be a nice dinner topic. “People who do stupid things are idiots, I should know, I’m an idiot too.” </p>
<p>She shrugs, “It was a long time ago.” </p>
<p>“Onto bigger and better things. I was surprised honestly, I hear Cuomo is back on the market, he didn’t try and get his talons in you during the break?” he waggles his eyebrows and sips. </p>
<p>“Oh yes, how lovely that would be, attending dinners in Albany and jokes about flattering coverage all the time. Plus,” she pulls a face.</p>
<p>He laughs, “Okay so he doesn’t do it for you, got it, just filing that away for later.” </p>
<p>“What about you, sorry it didn’t work out with Meg.”</p>
<p>“Liar,” he laughs, “No, Stewy and I had a heart to heart and agreed he was not the matchmaker for me.”</p>
<p>“Back to apps and slide into the DMs for you then?” </p>
<p>He shrugs. Doesn’t know what she’s looking for here and certainly doesn’t want to just admit he’s actually a terrible boyfriend, who seems to just make himself and his partner miserable with his weird hang ups and selfishness. “Not like I could keep anyone around the amount I am at work. Plus, I’ve been told to keep a low profile, don’t want any bad press, so not a great time to put an innocent through the torture of being associated with me I guess.”</p>
<p>“Can’t have stories coming out about you messaging rival company CEO’s at 3 am?” </p>
<p>“No that’s perfectly acceptable,” he leans back, “nothing in the company handbook against that. But here I was thinking you could keep a secret.”</p>
<p>“Did I say that?” She’s looking at him now like she could devour him, it makes him shift.<br/><br/>He thinks he might understand now why he’s here, what she’s had planned. “That’s kind of an inconvenience,” he says, hoping she’ll take the bait. </p>
<p>Her eyebrow raises in a rudely perfect way, “Is it now?” </p>
<p>“Well, say on a Friday night, I’m at home, forbidden from being out in the world to make silly Roman mistakes, a little drunk, kinda like I am now, and I happen to have my phone,” he shrugs, gauging her interest before he continues, but her eyes are on his lips, she’s leaning forward just so, he thinks she’s in. “It’s risky, calling a service, or a stranger, lord knows there’s no one in my old contact list that would pick up a call from me. But,” he leans, stretching his body out, sliding his hand across the table, his forefinger ghosts over her pinky resting next to the stem of her glass. He follows her gaze from him to his hand, and when she’s looking, he actually makes contact, delicate. “Say you could keep a secret, didn’t mind the imposition,” he fades, uncertain how far to push it. </p>
<p>She clears her throat very quietly, “Hypothetically,” tilting her head, touching her tongue to her upper lip, “I could see keeping that secret. Which is what it’d have to be, considering the circumstances.” </p>
<p>As if she is some kind of witch, capable of summoning men to do her will on demand, the waiter arrives with their check. He’s worried he’ll be unsteady on his legs, but by some miracle they make it to her car. When he slides in too far this time he doesn’t move back, allows his knee to rest against hers.<br/><br/>Her driver clarifies their location, maybe a little surprised he’s in the car. She doesn’t speak right away, possibly considering her options, but looks at him with a raised eyebrow. He takes it as an invitation and provides his address, shifting closer, mentally considering how he left his home this morning. </p>
<p>She isn’t making idle conversation the way she was on the way to the bar or restaurant, and he knows that’s a sign he could make a move. But they both have their phones out, compulsively checking in on work. </p>
<p>Something stops him from leaning over to kiss her. His body is buzzing from their slow, coy conversation at dinner, with the promise of what’s to come, but he feels weird starting in the car. Plenty of his past hookups have started in alleys, cars, bathrooms, but she isn’t a stranger in a club. She’s the head of a Fortune 500 company, she sits through Shakespeare readings at dinner and can curse like a sailor, drink like one too. She deserves more than him pawing at her in the back seat of her car. </p>
<p>He tries to bridge the awkwardness by putting his hand on her thigh, settling it slowly so she can swat him away if he’s making the wrong call, he doesn’t trust any of his instincts at the moment. His thumb aligns with the center of her thigh, fingers slipping to the inside. His anxious energy and natural compulsion to keep moving resulting in his thumb stroking small spans across her leg.</p>
<p>The only reaction she gives him is a slow blink while she stares at her phone, but she spreads her legs ever so slightly. He looks out the window and knows they’re likely within 3 minutes of his home now and he feels his heart rate increase. He’s considering reneging on his no-kissing-in-the-car plan, when the phone in Gerri’s hand starts making noise.<br/><br/>He can’t help but glance down, seeing Nan’s contact brighten the screen. She grimaces, and takes a breath before answering. He isn’t sure what to do, but he leaves his hand where it is, tries his best to stop his hand from moving, not wanting to be a distraction or a nuisance.<br/><br/>“Hello,” she says, her voice clear and professional, something he absolutely would not be able to pull off in his current state. While she’s impossible for him to impress, it seems like she has no problem impressing him at every turn. </p>
<p>She’s quiet for a while, a sporadic “okay” or “yes”, but just listening. At some point she closes her eyes and he gets a sinking feeling in his gut. </p>
<p>“Yes, I can do that. It’s not a problem. Thanks for letting me know. You too. Goodnight.” She says, before hanging up. </p>
<p>She leans back, eyes still closed, before she announces to her driver that they have to go to the office as the next stop. He sensed it was coming but hearing it spoken out loud makes him sink in his seat. </p>
<p>She looks over at him and he picks up on genuine regret in her eyes as they pull up to his door. He can feel her preparing something to say in her mind, maybe an apology, maybe justification, and he feels like shit. Squeezing her leg a little before he pulls it away, leaning over and kissing her cheek. “Go do your thing, I’ll manage,” he says softly, before opening the door and slipping away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I said this would just be two but...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“She doesn’t want a picture of your dick,” he reassures himself as walks aimlessly between the rooms of his apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been trying to think of something clever to text for the last 40 minutes since he got out of her car. A tiny part of him thinks about asking if she wants to meet up after she gets done, but he’s already been a desperate loser, doesn’t know if he’ll survive a second time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Conceding this wasn’t going to happen tonight, he contemplates drinking more, but chooses to just go to bed instead. He looks around his bedroom and wonders what she’d think of it. An interior decorator came in after he bought the place, tried to use his style and preferences, which apparently were modern bullshit and shades of grey. He can’t conjure a picture of Baird’s place but he remembered it seeming sad, like an impersonal hotel suite, he wonders if Gerri’s place is similar. There’s a chance he’ll never get to see it, but he likes the idea of seeing her at home, among her things. The places she’s been when they’ve talked all these months, where she’s laughed at him from, mocked him, flirted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some very small part of him is glad she got called away. In the elevator up, he was thinking about how this night would have gone otherwise. He doubts she’d have made the first move in a public place, so they probably would have just awkwardly brushed shoulders and hands in the elevator. They’d come down the hall and he’d have offered her a drink, which either way, it’d be a waiting game, who will move first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pictures walking up to her, reaching out to put a hand on her waist and leaning in for a kiss. But he doubts he’d be that smooth, more likely he’d say something weird and then she’d laugh and he’d poorly time it so he’d kiss her laughing mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him wonder if she’d have a preference for the couch or bed. He’d have to think about how he’d figure that out without asking. Wonders if he’d be able to actually think about anything other than her tongue once it’s touched his. He’s never been a fuck on his kitchen counter or against a wall kind of guy, the passion that requires isn’t something he’s been able to channel before. Right now, coming down from all their weird sex mind games, he thinks he could summon it if that’s what she wants.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strips off his suit, laying the pants and jacket over a chair in the corner, throwing the tie after it, and letting his shirt just fall to the floor. He’s hard again thinking about what could have been, his erection waning ever since Gerri’s phone rang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t had penetrative sex in years, or even had someone else touch his dick for over 8 months. There is a good chance he’d embarrass himself if she were with him, going off the first brush of her hand. In the car he didn’t think about that, about freezing up while between her legs and freaking out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing the thought out of his mind, he thinks back to their car ride, pressing himself against her, his hand on her leg, fingertips on her inner thigh, the head over her body below thin fabric. In the moment he hated the idea of kissing her in such a forward, hungry way, in full view of her driver, but alone, in his room, he thinks about sliding his hand higher. He thinks the noises she’d make would be perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s lube in his side table and he pours a little in his hand before sliding it into his boxers. He can’t remember feeling this good, picturing her in his lap, ripe lips, breath on his ear. Will she say his name? Will she let him put his face in her breast? Will she let him spread his slime all over her, bathing her nipples, neck, and thighs with his tongue? He comes thinking about her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks up to his alarm and his head is pounding. He crawls to the bathroom, starting the shower, avoiding looking at his reflection the best he can. The shower successfully wakes him up, but he’s still a little woozy before he gets food in his body. His phone has a couple unopened texts and he checks for the only one that actually matters. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Sorry about the interruption</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What exactly was he supposed to do with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Work is work, can’t do much about that. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He heads into work, happy it’s Friday and Stewy is out, so he can likely just hide in his office all day.  A couple meetings with folks from parks, and another 10 rounds with some ATN executives about branding, has him exhausted by lunch. His calendar is light in the afternoon and he’s considering heading out early, maybe around 4, see if he can go to the gym early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s responding to an email about profit margins for cruise activity packages, when there’s a knock at his door that pulls his attention. To his surprise Baird is standing in his doorway, asking for a minute of his time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roman invites him in, and gestures to the couch, where he meets him, sitting across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have I done to owe the pleasure of legal counsel on a Friday afternoon?” Roman starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh nothing you’ve done,” he says, “everything that has happened over the last few months, your father and brother moving on from the company, the new management, it’s been a lot of changes, fairly quickly. It’s made me reassess my priorities and I think seeing the struggles your father has been through, it really puts a perspective on things for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roman realizes he’s never really been in a position of authority that people respect before. Never in his life would he have expected to have Baird, talk to him like he is his actual boss.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I talked through it with Ellen, and I plan on telling the girls this weekend, but I wanted to let you know first, I’m planning on retiring at the end of the year,” Baird concludes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll be honest, it’s not a total surprise, but it is hard to hear nevertheless.” Roman says, trying his best to sound like what he imagines Frank would have done in this scenario. “You’ve been an unbelievable asset to us, and you’ve done more for the family than anyone should have ever asked you to, I want you to know, we appreciate all of the hard work and support you’ve provided over the last 30 years.” He stands up and offers Baird his hand, “It will be damn near impossible to find a General Counsel as impactful and dedicated as you, Baird.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had my doubts at first, about you,” Baird adds as they walk towards the door, “you have your mother's flair for drama and your father's charm, it’s a potent combination. But you’ve really stepped up these last few months, I think you’ll make a great leader.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It crosses his mind that less than 24 hours ago he was masturbated to this man’s ex-wife. It feels a little incestuous. So he claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, thanked him for the support and ushered him out of the room as fast as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forgets the feeling after 10 reps of leg presses at the gym. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner is sushi and sake, delivered. He checked the news for anything coming out of PGM that might have warranted Gerri’s disappearance last night. Nothing seemed to pop. He considered briefly she just had someone call her with an out, like a nice way to bail on a shitty date, but she seemed genuinely disappointed from his view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s comfortably inebriated and full, relishing again what his life has become, when his phone rings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The caller surprises him, but he answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, sorry about the time, I just got some news I thought you’d want right away,” Karolina rattles off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shakes him a little, you don’t usually call someone at 9 pm on a Friday when it’s good news. “Okay,” he says cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can wait, if you’d rather another time, or if you’d rather in person,” she says offering him an out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is fine, tell me what you got,” he says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She exhales and then begins, “So we did a DNA test against Kendall and Logan samples. We used hair comparisons and then had oral swabs from you and Kendall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember that bit,” he says, trying to keep it light, but also feels a foreboding sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All samples indicate you are biologically related to both Logan and Kendall,” she rushes out, and it feels like a bandaid was just ripped off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says surprised, “I honestly, didn’t think that was where this was heading, okay. Good? Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” He stands up and then sits back down, not really knowing how to process or exist in this moment, “Sorry you had to do this. But thanks too,” he adds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. Sorry it had to come to that, but good result I guess, right?” she seems to be at a loss for what’s the right tone. “Have a good weekend Roman,” she adds before hanging up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enough people had asked in the last few days, that he had considered the results could go the other way. He didn’t know how to prepare for that case, figured it’d come to him in the moment. He’s relieved that the matter is put to rest. His father is his father, even if he’d suggest he isn’t to a large press organization for the sake of humiliating him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back until his back is against the cushions and stretches so his legs are over the couch arm. He pulls his phone off his belly and slides through his contacts. He pulls up Kendall’s, knowing there isn’t a good chance he’ll reply, he still sends him a message. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Took a DNA test, turns out I’m 100% that (Roy) bitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes back to scrolling, until he finds what he was pretending he didn’t want right away.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>u up?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>It’s 9:43.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Might have had a really long day yesterday, hard on the old bones, might have called it early.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Someone’s full of moxie tonight. Maybe a little misplaced frustration?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Compassionate, understanding, gentleman I was, and you mock me? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>You are none of those things and utterly mockable, I stand by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>I had news to share but if you’re going to be like this, I don’t know if I want to share it. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Oh, do tell</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   No, I don’t think you deserve my news</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Fine you don’t tell me yours, I won’t tell you mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Is yours that Baird is retiring?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Is yours that Baird is retiring?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Nope.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Neither was mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Okay then, what’s your news?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  You first?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>You are a child. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Taste of your own medicine.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Karolina called with test results </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like the second he texts it his phone is ringing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he answers in a sing-songy voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” she asks, no interest in his niceties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Officially, from the science gods, it’s been decreed, I am my father's son. Much to my father's disappointment I am sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs, “Well that’s good for your investment portfolio I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking disappointed, you’re just a messy bitch who loves drama aren't you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disappointed isn’t the right word, but I did think it’d be an interesting circumstance if it were true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was your news then?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kendall proposed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not what he thought it’d be at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naomi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she says softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they're doing okay, Nan is a little upset by it but they both seem happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn't mean to upset you,” she tries to backpedal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Baird is retiring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, end of the year, said he was telling the girls this weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re having dinner tomorrow, all together to celebrate the engagement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fun,” he says sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not my word for it,” she sighs, “He’s bringing Ellen, which is fine, but it just seems to set them off, I’m sure it will be boring at its best, awkward at its worst. Maybe I can fake a cold, get out of it, but I’d hate to do that to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like you need incentive to get through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well what would you suggest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make it through dinner, you are welcome to come over here for dessert,” he tried to sound as relaxed and chill as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dessert?” she questions, her tone skeptical. “What might that entail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d be the guest, up to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a little shuffling on the other end of the phone, “I don’t really have a sweet tooth.” He is trying to think of a coy response, to somehow get them closer to what he really wants, but everything he can think of is cheesy and bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then what are your thoughts on sex as an incentive?” he asks as playfully as he can, at a loss for anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs a little, he can’t tell if it's with or at him, but he can take it if she’s going to agree. “I don’t hate the idea,” she says, laughter still in her voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So last night, your little shiver, how you moved to get my hand just where you wanted it, spread for me, that’s all just you not hating something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was mostly admiring your world's slowest seduction technique. Didn’t take you for a guy it takes 6 dates to get to second base.” Her voice is different, clearer, lower, challenging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never successfully done this before. He’s tried a couple of times with previous girlfriends but it always turned weird and never turned him on. Part of him wants to de-escalate, agree on tomorrow and they can both hang up and handle things themselves. But he likes her, likes her more than everyone else he’s around and he doesn’t want to disappoint at the first challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I hadn’t realized you wanted an audience, I guess I should have pulled you into my lap, made sure your driver could hear you moaning my name.” He can’t help picture it, feels himself stiffening at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears what he’s certain as a zipper and suddenly all of this is real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you have done?” her voice sounds sticky and heavy like real maple syrup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts back to lay down, shouldering his phone while his hands rid him of his belt and open his pants. “Well I’m a gentleman, I would have offered you a drink, plied you with compliments, then pressed you into any vertical surface nearby,” he’s not breathless but he’s getting there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums softly and he likes that better than if she added anything. He doesn’t want any of his hang ups getting in the way of this good thing. He closes his eyes and tries to think of it just as he did last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you’re bossy, you’d have all sorts of feedback I’ll be terrible at taking. How much is too much tongue, where and how long I can suck your neck, the right amount of pressure in a bite, the right way to tweak your nipples. You’re going to make me learn so much, I can’t fucking wait.” He pauses to slide his pants and boxers down, freeing himself. She’s breathing more heavily, he can’t hear much else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d try and get you naked first, but I doubt you’ll let that happen,” he staves off a moan, as he grips himself. “I could see getting on my knees right there, you leaning against a wall, or there’s always the couch or bedroom. I’m a selfless guy, I’d deal with some sore muscles. I’d let you sit on my face, but I think that’s a little much for the first night. Either way, I plan on spending half of eternity tasting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses to check in with her, she’s hummed a couple more times, so he assumes he’s on the right track. He doesn’t feel uneasy the way he has in the past. Pushing it a little farther, he asks, “Gerri, do you have to take a work call?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She exhales suddenly, not quite laughing. “Fuck you,” its followed by a few shaky breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow, I promise,” he speeds up his strokes, “I’m thinking the bedroom, that way when I’m doing a bad job, you can just put me on my back and take what you need. It’s better that way, I can run my hands over you, lean you forward,” he runs out of breath. He doesn’t feel coherent enough to keep talking, his mind just focusing on the friction of his hand and her clipped moans. He comes saying her name without even thinking about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drops out for a minute and he can’t hear anything, listening the best he can as he tries to calm his breath, he checks and knows she hasn’t hung up. When she returns she sounds steady, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re significantly less obscene than I imagined,” she says after a little while, sounding normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, “If that’s what you want, I can be so obscene, you’ll blush every time you see me. But tell me more about this imagining of yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She huffs a little, clearly off her game with all the endorphins running around. “I just meant, I enjoyed that, what I assume was great restraint on your part.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mimics her move, and just hums his acknowledgement of the statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, congratulations again on the paternity stuff, glad you got the closure on that. And thank you for the incentive. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sounds cautious, like she isn’t sure they have really made the deal. He clears his throat, worried he’ll sound like a teenager if he doesn’t. “Yeah, just text whenever you’re done with your dinner, I’ll text the address, unless you were thinking something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, yeah, see you then. Goodnight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drops his phone to his stomach, just lays there for a minute, thinking about how fucking bizarre his life has become. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up at 3 am, cold, sticky and feeling sore without even moving. Rolling on to the floor, he makes the most depressing and heinous sound, feeling old for the first time in awhile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes it to the bedroom and collapses on the bed, thoughts of what the day might bring floating through his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His third favorite Starbucks is uncharacteristically busy which irritates him. He checks his phone while waiting for his IV of caffeine and can’t help himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Roman: </b>
  <span>  You talk to Ken? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Shiv:   </b>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Word on the street he’s engaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S:   </b>
  <span>Bullshit. Who said that? Stewy? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Media folks heard it from PGM camp (Naomi).</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S: </b>
  <span>  Is he talking to you? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Hasn’t spoken a meaningful word since his press conference. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>S:   </b>
  <span>Same. You talk to Dad?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Frank has reached out a couple times, but all legal advice has forbidden it. Pretty sure he’s not looking to reconcile if he’s putting it out there that I’m the bastard spawn of some horse faced underling and our wonderful mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>S: </b>
  <span>  You take a test for the briefcases? I asked mom about it, she was less than helpful, suggested the only one of us that could be illegitimate was me. “I don’t know where else that hair and attitude could come from, but it is reminiscent of a Scotsman who managed the estate while we were in the states.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>🙏 bless her</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S: </b>
  <span>  You think we survive this? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Which part? Dad or Kendall or Mom or each other?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S:   🙃</b>
</p><p>
  <b>S:</b>
  <span>   So no Thanksgiving this year? Tom said things are better at Waystar, said you were doing pretty well all things considered. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Doing my best to make Tom proud. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>S:  </b>
  <span> Dinner soon?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  👍</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S:  </b>
  <span> dick</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to work for a little while in the afternoon, spends some time at the gym, but his concentration is shot. Somehow he ends up on Men’s Health reading an article about giving head and drops his phone. He contemplates reading a book but chooses to game instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s talking shit to what is probably a 12 year old in Oklahoma, when his phone lights up with a text.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Your evening has to be going better than mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> Just a quiet night at home, glass of port, re-reading Anna Karenina thinking of breaking out the cigars later. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>Worrisome to think of you reading Tolstoy</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Dinner not going well?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> It’s a cold war</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   WASPs… Turn it into a Roy family affair, it’s not a family dinner if everyone's knife isn’t covered in some blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Yes, the pinnacle of healthy family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sends her his address, follows it up with a snarking comment because he can’t help himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> Let me know when you're on your way over, I’ll have a whiskey ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Make it a double. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It’s another hour and a half before she send an “omw” text. He cleans up a little, moving his two empty beer bottles into the kitchen. He’s showered twice throughout the day, contemplates going in again before realizing how insane that sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorman texts he had a guest on her way up and he pulls down to glasses from the shelf, grabbing a reasonable bottle of whiskey, he thinks she’ll like. Pours two solid fingers for the both of them and then waits for the light tap at his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a flourish to his door opening technique, he’s perfected over years of fucking with Shiv. She looks amused but exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the den of all things weird and unholy, drink?” he asks as he leads her down the entryway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe I was promised whiskey,” her voice not nearly as tired as her posture presents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs the drink off the counter as he approaches and hands it to her, “well earned I’m sure.” He holds up his glass for a cheers, “to suffering fools.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clinks his glass and smiles before taking a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How often do you guys all get together?” he asks, shifting to rest against the bar counter across from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twice a year maybe, for the last 5 years. The girls always insist and then have a horrible time, seem to forget that by the next time they’re planning,” she says, studying her glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talked to Shiv today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d that go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just shrugs, staring at her while shipping his glass. He sets down the glass, behind him and continues staring, which doesn’t seem to unnerve her. She raises an eyebrow over her glass as she downs the remains of her whiskey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting it on the counter behind her, he watches her shift from leaning on the counter to leaning forward, towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look nice,” he says, stepping forward reaching out to touch her blouse where it meets her skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she says with a small smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes, “You look nice too, Roman,” he says in a mock Gerri voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squints at him, and touches his cheek, the first real contact they’ve made since this all started. It’s hard for him to not just turn his head into her hand and kiss her palm. She rubs across his growing stubble with her thumb, “Are you trying to grow a beard?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, her mild disgust at his unkempt face, “I’m thinking about it, why do you hate the idea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head slightly, still staring. “I don’t hate it,” her fingers moving along his chin and cheek into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of these days, I’m going to find something you like,” he says, stepping a little closer, the gap between them less than a foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” It’s a challenge, he’s willing to accept. He raises his eyebrows and response with a firm “yes,” before leaning in for a kiss. She reciprocates, it’s a little dry and stilted, trying to figure out their style. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back, licks his lips and brushes her hair back, leaving the hand in her hair before diving back into her lips. She slides her hand from his hair to the base of his neck, her thumb behind his ear stroking small waves. She pulls back for air at some point, nipping his bottom lip as she moves away. It shocks him, makes him laugh. He crowds her after that, smiling against her lips, running his hand up her side, brushing her breast as he goes. It earns him another soft bite and he can’t help but retaliate, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth, scraping it softly with his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t remember a time when he felt so light in this situation. Most of his experiences were cultivated expressly for their grimy appeal. He felt weird or dirty, and the encounter stemmed only from that. This was something else, he felt springy, childish, fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a while, adjusting to one another, slowly challenging one another along. They broke apart as she pulled his tee shirt off, scratched her nails along his hips. He pulled back slightly when she leaned into him, trying to gauge her, moving his hand on her breast back down to her waist and relaxing his hand in her hair. His eyes flick from hers to her mouth, to her chest and back to her eyes. He catches her staring at his lips, the attention making them feel dry, her eyes drift lower to his growing bulge in his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to speak but the words get caught in his throat, he has to cough a little to clear it. “Want to go to my bedroom?” The second he says it, he feels like it was a mistake. The words of a lonely teen boy or a loser. She laughs at him a little, probably out of surprise and his idiocy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She focuses back to his face, her expression soft. “Lead the way,” she says dropping the shirt she still held in her hands to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows there could have been something cooler or sexier he could have done, tried to have kissed her all the way there, pushed her up against a wall, somehow carried her to the bed, but he’s struggling to put one foot in front of the other, without any other complications. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s awkward again in his room. The two of them just standing there, facing each other, waiting for the other to make a move. He ducks his head slightly, approaching her cautiously, hands feeling the material of her shirt at her hips. After a slow breath, he looks up at her as he pulls the shirt from it’s tucked configuration in her skirt, following the fabric around to start tackling the enormous task that is the buttons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s dark grey and silk and he doesn’t think he’s ever touched something so nice. Like she’s a precious packaged wrapped in the softest, fine, complicated wrapping he must solve. It’s an embarrassing showing, his dexterity is fucked, fingers fumbling to try and move a small soft button through a tiny whole. She smirks a little at first, watching him flail, but her patience is short. After a few more seconds she pushes his hands away, and starts to unbutton them herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels like a useless slug, just standing there, watching her methodically remove the item, hands hovering around her. He settles himself by resting his hands on her hips, smoothing out the fabric of her skirt, sliding from her sides around her back, looking for the zipper. He can feel the seam, intellectually understands the zipper is there, but can’t fucking manage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs a little, tries again, but realizes he won’t be able to manage without seeing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ woman, it’s like a fucking IQ test to get you undressed,” he puffs, sliding around her to her back, finally pulling the zipper and unlatching her skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s laughing at him again, “didn’t realize you were so incompetent with your hands,” she pokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s working on a retort when he slips back around her, taking her in. Shirt undone and open, he admires her chest, clad in a navy lacy bra he thinks he might think about for the rest of his life. He delicately pushes on the skirt and slides it down her legs, floored to see it’s a matching set. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he thinks about the fact that she put them on knowing he’d be seeing them, he might be done before she can even touch him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands up fully, drawn to touching her bare skin, his hands slide under her open shirt across her bare stomach and ribs. She shivers a little, startled by the new touch. Her eyes are closed which he hates. Capturing her lips again, he slides his hands up, pulling the shirt from her shoulders. The ease and mirth the exchange had started with has dissolved, replaced by a hunger and frenetic pulse he can’t resist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands dip into his waistband, quickly, neatly undoing the button of his jeans and sliding down his zipper. Her hand brushes him and he stutters, breaking the kiss, dropping his head trying to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a second to steady himself, stepping out of his pants, before he can think. “Fuck,” he says, mostly breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the intention, yes,” she says and he hates that she’s so smart even now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his eyes, head pointed directly into her breasts, covered in what he’s sure is unreasonably expensive lace. He feels too reckless to touch it, “fucking smokeshow,” he whispers to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing slightly on her shoulder, he tries to bully her onto the bed. She slides back, somehow looking put together and gorgeous, while he feels like a jittery, horny mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneels at her feet, trying his best to be sexy, sliding a hand up each leg, allowing her to part them for him. It’s impossible for him to decide where to look, flitting up and down her body. He pauses there, between her legs, hands on her hips, just staring. It must frustrate her because she gives him a funny look, maybe amused but also questioning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so fucking hot,” he beams, leaning over her to steal a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not great at this part, multitasking has never been a skill of his. He tries to keep up with her, matching the moves of her lips and tongue with his, while he slides his hand to her center, but he finds himself faltering. She bristles against him, making an dismayed noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he breaths, dropping his head to her shoulder, lavishing her neck and shoulder with his mouth aimlessly while he focuses on getting the right touch. She must understand, sliding her hand down her arm, guiding his hand, using him for her relief while teaching him what she likes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hums she makes, pulled from the back of her throat, may be the most perfect thing he’s ever heard. It drives him to push further, get more. He steals a kiss, before sliding down her body, ridding her of the lace as he goes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He replaces his fingers with his mouth, making the lightest of contact, worried to not go too far without her direction. He reaches for her hand, pulling it to his head, to thread into his hair. Grasping for her other free hand, lacing their fingers, holding them together at her breast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes less than half an eternity, but the experience is enough to make him regret not committing to spending a lifetime between her legs. He feels a little smug, feeling her ride the aftershocks, pulling sharply on her hair as he continues the press of his tongue on her overly sensitive nerves. Her breath is uneven, hand tightly holding his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drags himself up to his knees, feeling a twinge in his neck that is regretful but worth it. She seems dreamy, not yet grounded from the high. He leans over her, wiping his face on a stray pillow. She loosens her grip on his hand, signalling her return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to tell me more about how incompetent I am with my hands?” he smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her chest rises, an unexpected laugh bursting from her, “I would say that was a pleasing experience.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, he slides his thumb across her clit as a taunt, which makes her exhale unexpectedly. “You’re a brat,” he grins, not meaning it at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls him into a kiss, moving to cradle him in her legs. He finds it impossible to resist pressing against her, getting some relief from the friction. Her hips rolling in time with his, telling him this is good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns her head so her lips are just at his ear, hand in his hair and on his back, “Do you have a condom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not capable of forming words at this point, just nods against her skin, mouth open slobbering on her shoulder. He stretches over to the nightstand, pulling from the box he bought that morning, in anticipation of this moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the smoothest application, his hands shaky, mind fuzzy, muscle memory gone because of lack of practice. But he’s back over her, guiding himself home, and everything else falls away. He’s slow, worried he’ll lose it if he gets too much stimulation. She urges him, first with a hand on his ass, then with clipped words of encouragement - “yes” “please” “fuck”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s moving under him as he thrusts, creating the perfect stroke. He doesn’t last long, warning her how close he is, apologizing. She tightens her hand in his hair, he takes it as permission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collapses by her side, rolling to his back, taking care of the condom and staring at the ceiling. He’s not very good at this part, doesn’t know how to handle it, but feels like he should rationalize, justify, his performance. Maybe increase his chances at trying again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, that was probably embarrassingly short, it’s been a while, and you are dangerously good at that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums softly, ‘Thanks?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks over and she’s running her fingers through her hair, taking slow, measured breaths. After all of that, she’s still so cool, studied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get you anything?” he asks, not confident about it being the right thing to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ll use your restroom,” she replies, shifting off the bed. He doesn’t think he can handle watching her, might say something stupid and ruin everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks over to his dresser, pulling on a pair of jogger, deciding against a shirt. Grabbing the condom, he tosses it in the kitchen trash, washing his hands, wiping them while they’re still wet down his face. He picks up his errant shirt, wipes his face and hands with it, and leaves it on the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerri comes out of the bedroom, hair pulled up, but dressed as prim as ever, if a little more wrinkled. He knew she’d leave right after, but is still a little disappointed when it’s real. She grabs her bag she dropped on the way in, pulling out her phone, likely texting her driver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink for the road? Whiskey, water, gatorade?” he jokes, staring at her as she’s back into business mode. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine thank you,” she replies without looking at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should say so,” he cracks, hoping to get a smile out of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleased with yourself?” she says, finally looking up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe a little,” he smirks. It takes everything he has not to kiss the little frown she pulls at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her phone buzzes and she checks it quickly, moving to gather her things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves around her, heading to the door, feeling compelled to walk her out which she seems weary of. He holds the door, but stands in the way of her exit, “My door is always open, if ever the occasion is to arise again,” he offers searching her eyes for any indication she might accept the offer, but she doesn’t give anything away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps aside, offering a good night. She pats his arm as she passes through, “good night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After she’s left he thinks of showering, but he sort of wants to live in the smell and feel of the night a little longer. His bed smells like her and sex and sweat and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep in it without having filthy dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slides between the sheets nonetheless, and tries unsuccessfully to drift off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone on the nightstand buzzes and he checks it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>What are you doing next Friday?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sometimes your guy wins (after a couple of tense days and let downs in the house and senate) and you get a little wasted and write smut.<br/>This one is fun to play with, thanks for sticking around/coming back for more.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>What are you doing next Friday?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Practicing kissing with my pillow, why is there a better offer?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> Pending any crisis I’ll be free after 9 or 10. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Works for me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The weather is shit on Monday, rainy and cold, with a similar forecast for the rest of the week. Which in and of itself is a bummer, but then he’s stuck having the same “I guess it’s fall now” conversation for two days straight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tom stops by his office on Tuesday, he bullshits for a while until he finally admits he’s there to invite Roman to dinner on tomorrow night if he’s free. There isn’t much he can pretend he’s busy with, so he reluctantly agrees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stewy is in rare form and it makes him uneasy. Striding into Roman’s office, already ranting about some regulatory plan, Roman had just had a briefing on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Legal is confident we won't get caught up in anything there,” Roman tries to reassure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure Baird’s got it handled, okay,” Stewy says unconvinced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can set up additional reviews if you have concerns, but everyone I’ve talked to isn’t really worried about it,” he replies, hoping it’s enough to get him off the topic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Stewy resigns then walks from the desk to sit on the couch, folding his legs and leaning back like they’re in for a long conversion. He doesn’t speak for a minute, just stares at him, slightly tilting his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” Roman asks, mostly to be an ass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heard you are a true born heir,” he says studying his finger nails, “congratulations for a monogamous mother.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, truly means so much coming from you, man,” he quips back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you talked to Karolina or lawyers about your options there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, she booked some time with me tomorrow in the afternoon, I suspect that will be the topic to address. Safe and good way to get the results to a friendly face.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Financially, and for the stability, it’s great, happy for you, but man, what great drama that could have been, I don’t mind saying I’m a little disappointed it didn’t go the other way,” he says with a shit eating grin on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why does everyone keep saying that? It’d be fucking awful.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who else said that, does the youngest member of the Roy clan want you to be a bastard?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels a little uneasy here, knowing he’d never say it was Gerri Kellman of PGM who wanted it to be true, but doesn’t love putting Shiv on the spot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter, because you’re all fucking idiots, and it’s put to rest, I am, tragically, a Roy by birth and will likely be a Roy by death.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The way your dad’s going, could be a Roy by death by a Roy,” Stewy adds unhelpfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well if they have me murdered, I hope they frame it on you,” he smirks. “What may I help you with Mr. </span>
  <span>Hosseini</span>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing, I’m just here to see you darling, check in on your mental health, but you seem well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I love when my father shivs me while also pissing on my shoes.” He admits it’s not his best work, but he doesn’t really have it in him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he sounds unconvinced, “So, I have a friend Molly, she’s a stylist, she just broke up with her shitty boyfriend, and I was thinking,” he says but Roman cuts him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No way, we talked about this, no more dates.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like a pick me up for her, it wouldn’t be serious, I think you’d get a kick out of her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious, I’m not looking for any of those kinds of complications right now, you even said, lay low.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I meant like don’t get in a fight with your sister in a restaurant or throw any shots at your brother in the media, and I guess don’t seem like a general scumbag. Fine, maybe I’ll try Collin in Communications,” he grumbles as he stands up and heads to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or maybe don’t treat the staff like an escort service for your friends,” Roman counters, but just receives a middle finger in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His day is slow and frustrating. He’s spent so much time over the last week talking about his personal issues at work that he’s relieved to just sit in meetings about cruises, his least favorite sector. But at some point Karolina grabs him and drags him back into the tar. Her recommendation is to not release the results unless things escalate. He understands where she is coming from, but he’s also sick of everyone he’s talked to in the last two weeks has asked him about it. His personal lawyers attest that they have their own confirmed results that they will maintain until things anyone files. But they suggest for good will it would be better for a clarifying statement to be made sooner rather than later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s tempting to text Gerri, ask for her opinion on the DNA results play. But she hasn’t really texted him since Saturday. He’s poked a couple of times, when a headline really gets him, he’ll pass it along and they’ll have a quick back and forth, but nothing real. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sex was good. He feels like a loser for thinking it was the best he’s ever had, but it was probably the most normal, cookie cutter encounter he’s had since he was a teenager. He is happy it happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, they had a friendship developing and now he’s got a sex date and no one replying to his passable jokes. It crossed his mind to apologize, in case she was disappointed and regretted it, but she asked if he was free on Friday. Friday at 10, which clearly is not a dinner invitation, she’s looking for just a repeat from Saturday night. He considers cancelling, seeing what happens if he flakes on it, but then he gets in bed at night and his pillow still smells like her, and he remembers what her body feels like under him and he can’t bring himself to do it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He regrets agreeing to dinner even before he arrives. Tom answers the door, like a golden retriever excited to see someone, might pee himself for no reason other than his brain is so small it can’t process two things at once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome!” Tom proclaims, shepherding Roman into the apartment..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tom gives him a tour of the place since they apparently redid a few things. He’s never understood his sister's sense of style, finding her preference for both bohemian and modern design in one space immiscible. They finish the tour in the kitchen where Shiv is already pouring them a drink, ever the hostess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They move to the lounge, cocktails in hand, which is to the great dismay of Mondale. While at first he cautiously approaches Roman for pets, quickly develops a keen interest in Roman’s crotch, which feels borderline a violation, to Shiv’s great amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you heard anything else about Ken?” Shiv asks, just diving in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, just the one rumor,” he realizes he should have asked Gerri if there had been more on that front. She hadn’t offered anything in terms of gossip or news lately regarding that, he might send a text before dinner if he has a minute alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not that I don’t believe it,” Shiv starts, but Roman interrupts, “but you don’t believe it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well he’s stupid, but with the kids and Rava and the stuff with Dad, just feels like maybe not the best move?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well Naomi is probably worth more than him now, could be doing it for the money.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God, I didn’t even think about him being stupid enough to not consult a lawyer,” she groans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure he’s got plenty of lawyers to talk to at this point,” Tom offers as some comfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“True.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you talked to Dad lately?” he can’t stop himself from asking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I went over there for dinner on Monday.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how did that go?” he asked before taking a deep sip of his drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She crosses her legs and leans back, “He’s fucking lost it, says he has some big plan but everyone is acting against him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he say anything about me?” he feels vulnerable to ask it but feels like he has to know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ro, he’s not well,” she tries to reassure him, but it just makes him queasy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay so he said something shitty?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s pretty committed to this paternity thing. Just mostly he referred to Kendall as a traitor and you as a bastard, which could mean nothing but he did also clarify that “you aren’t his son.” So that wasn’t great,” she explains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to throw the glass in his hand against the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck him,” he says through clenched teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agreed,” Ton says, and for some reason it makes him laugh. He thinks he’s losing it because he can’t stop laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Awkwardly Tom laughs too which he can’t handle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiv stands up, silently asks for his glass and then announces they’ll be in the dining room for dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sends himself to the bathroom firsts, pulling out his phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> Any updates on the great Roy-Pierce engagement</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> The ring is garish </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  There is a ring?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   A custom of engagements </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Oh really, I had never heard that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> Where are you?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Shivs, for dinner</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Need an incentive to make it through?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   I would be terrible company</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> You always are, but I really don't mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t think he could manage her cold retreat in the mood he’s in, especially after another hour of Tom and Shiv sideshow theatre. But he could touch her and for a little while feel like none of the other shit matters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   I’ll text on my way home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  k</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As far as incentives go, it fucking works. He doesn’t let any of the blows hit him from Shiv or Tom. Shiv talks about how fantastic her candidate is, how amazing the campaign is going, and he wonders how much of that is true. Tom reassures him he’s liking ATN, but he looks miserable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s the love life?” Tom asks, after they’ve run out of everything else to talk about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really dating right now, too much trouble trying to keep up at work,” he evades.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just went out with Connie Lu like a week ago,” Shiv challenges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman shrugs, “That was months ago, Stewy was trying to set me up with different friends and media types, probably hoping something would catch and I’d learn some manners, but pretty tedious and nothing worthwhile.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s really pretty,” Shiv points out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lot of pretty people in the world Shiv.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever, you want to be sad, lonely Roman for all your life, fine by me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck are you talking about? I’m not lonely.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tom tries to play peacemaker, commenting on some stupid celebrity thing Roman hadn’t heard about. He’s used to it, the shitty things their family says to each other, but lately every hit feels like its landing and he’s losing the ability to get back up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s in the car on the way home contemplating bailing on Gerri. It was stupid to agree, knowing he’d be in this mood. Maybe that’s how she felt on Saturday, drained and shitty, maybe that’s why she left the way she did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> Home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t reply right away and it makes him more annoyed. He grabs a Lagunitas IPA from the fridge, chucking the bottle cap across the room as some form of release. He checks his phone again, still no response. He wants to throw that too but that won't do him any good. He leaves it on the counter. Walking room to room for something to do other than drink. His jaw tenses after he swallows. His dad is a fucking monster. Shiv is a bitch. Kendall is a dick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knock at the door startles him. He opens it, bottle in hand, shirt untucked, hair every which way from rubbing it a million times in the last hour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like shit,” Gerri says matter-a-factly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilts his head, not minding the dig so much as he hated Shiv’s, “Thanks.”  He opens the door wider, letting her in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s still in her work clothes, peeling off her heels when she’s in his entry way. She must have just come from the office, working late, happy for the stupid distraction that is him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So rough dinner?” she asks, waiting for him to catch up with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls a face, and she offers him a sad smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shiv talked to Dad on Monday I guess,” he starts but he feels his voice wavering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’d that go?” she reaches her hand out for his beer bottle and takes a swig before handing it back. He lifts it up offering to get her her own but she just shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He, ah, she said he,” he’s not sure he wants to say it out loud, he takes a second then paints on a smile, “he’s not one for science, so DNA, climate change, why trust the experts.” He takes a long sip of his beer, just to avoid eye contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brow furrows a little, but it passes. She reaches out for the bottle again, this time finishing it for him, setting it on the side table nearby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She approaches him, so effortlessly and confident, brushing her hand against his chin. “Committing to the beard, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He relaxes against her touch, liking the spark she gets in her eyes when she’s found something she can make fun of him for. “You like it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I,” she starts, but he interrupts, “don’t you dare say, you don’t hate it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, “Oh yeah? And what exactly would the consequences be?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a few steps forward, crowding her space, which she doesn’t back away from. He palms her cheek, admiring her soft skin, his focus drifts to her lips, watching her wet. “Everything I can think of right now wouldn’t be a punishment,” he breaths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans in first, their kiss has a different tone then the ones they shared on Saturday, less tentative and exploring, more passionate and aggressive. She pushes him back, while slipping her tongue into his mouth. He struggles to keep up, hoping there isn’t anything he can bump into or trip over behind him. They make it to his couch without any incident and he genuinely believes she may be magic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They did this a little the first night, but they were both excited to move on with the show. Now, he has one hand on her waist and one in her hair, as she slips  her tongue between his lips, and he thinks he could live here forever. Her skirt is constraining, which is a disappointment because he pictured this with her fully in his lap. But he’s able to maneuver her onto her back, positioning  himself along her side before being pulled more fully on top of her. His hand finds it’s rightful place on her breast, as he fights for territory with her tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gets increasingly aggressive, getting more and more handsy, scratching, pulling at his shirt and pant waist. He likes it, that she’s the eager one, clearly moved by his ministrations, but refuses to be direct with what she wants, needs. Her thigh slips against him, brushing his erection, and he can’t help his reaction. He grips her other thigh tightly, wanting so bad to drag his nails down to her knee. “Fucking witch,” he groans. She bites his lip in return and he’s never felt so warm, scattered to pieces like he does in that moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slides away, taking her in, feeling lucky and confused and like he sits for any longer all the rest of the night will wash back in, ruining his sense of peace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be right back,” he says, before sprinting off to the bedroom, surprised by the performance of his legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He returns almost immediately with a condom in hand, his shirt missing, and his pants unbuttoned. She takes in his appearance and must understand because she unzips the side of her skirt, shedding it to the floor with her underwear, pulling her shirt over her head before he reaches the couch. She moves to lay back down, but he grabs her hand, sitting himself down, and pulling her into his lap. It warrants a displeased huff from Gerri but he ignores it, relishing his face's proximity to her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She steals the wrapper from his hand, opening it and sliding it on, clearly looking to move things along. She’s good at this, which isn’t a surprise given that she’s good at everything. He wraps an arm around her, as one of her hands leaves his shoulder to grip the back of the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nips then attaches his mouth to her neck, she lets him for a moment, before pulling hard on his hair, clearly indicating she has no desire to be marked by him. It spurs him to swat her ass, pull her tighter against him. She rolls her hips tighter, finding just the right technique. He was fairly certain she had blue eyes, but they’re so dark now he isn’t sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She seems to like the idea of controlling the pace, pulling up whenever she thinks he’s getting too eager, scratching her nails on his neck, tugging on his beard. It frustrates him at first, makes him grip her thighs harder. She laughs at him at some point, maybe not him, but at his frustration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s moving faster and he helps her along, her sighs getting thicker, until she’s rigid and whispering “yes” in his ear. She sags against him, catching her breath, riding out some aftershocks that are keeping him on edge. He tightens his grip on her hips, trying to steady himself while she recovers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” he whines, sounding as desperate as he feels.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It brings her back to reality, eyes clearing, making a slow roll of her hips that makes him whine even more. She smirks at that, touching his face, nails trailing through his beard, sliding into his hair, tugging. His hips stutter, chasing the pleasure that comes with the pain, struggling to keep his eyes open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what he says, just knows he’s making noise. The heart beat fades from his ears, and he’s able to relax his arms that were desperately clutching her to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls away enough and he shutters, too sensitive for the action. To his surprise she doesn’t pull back further. Just sits there for a moment, in his lap, with a smirk on her face, hands on his shoulder and cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her thumb strokes his beard, looking at him softly, “I like it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind is too mushy to understand, “The sex?” he asks but it’s mostly a mumble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs lightly, “The beard, but the sex is good too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at that, feeling satisfied in more ways than one. In a movie he’d just stand up, wrap her legs around him and take her to bed, but instead she pushes against his chest, loosening his arm that’s wrapped around her, sliding off of his lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans down and grabs her skirt from the floor and slips it back on, followed by her shirt. He settles for slipping back into his underwear but has no desire to put back on the slacks he was wearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heads off to the bathroom without a word. He goes to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water and beer, taking a swig from both. Gerri returns, looking presentable as ever,the only hint something happened is the red of her cheeks still has yet to fade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds the water up to her, like a horse that might bolt if he speaks. To his surprise, she takes it, drinks a healthy sum. She hands it back to him, their fingers brushing, and then walks around the counter to retrieve her bag and phone. She silently texts for a minute and then looks back up at him somewhat expectantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re thinking about trying to see your Dad, I think that’s a really bad idea,” she offers out of left field. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands a little taller, feeling stupid for it, “I’m not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she shrugs, “but if you ever start thinking about it, talk to someone first.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to roll his eyes, “He said,” he starts but she stops him, reaches out and touches his ear, and he automatically leans into it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>““He’s playing with you, waiting for you to give in,” she says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s my Dad,” is all he can muster, learning his face harder into her palm, turning into it so he can kiss her skin, as a repentance for his weakness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” she concedes. Her phone buzzes and she pulls away, checks it and announces, “Car’s downstairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns and he follows her out, feeling just enough confidence at the door to ask, “Friday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her smirk kills him, “I don't see why not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes the door after her, chugs the water she left for him and then heads to the shower. No thoughts of his shitty family in sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday is a fucking drag, he has board meeting prep all day. Even the good night of sleep didn’t help his attitude after an hour of taking to marketing about brand loyalty and dynamic market share. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stewy leans over during a break and checks in with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How have you been feeling lately? Hanging in there? It’s a tough time and that family of yours really knows how to fuck you from all directions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just dandy, me and all the other sugar plum dick sweats are living for the holidays, you know me, can’t get enough of that ole family time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been meaning to say, you’ve been looking less lizard like lately, did you get a new facialist or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman does a double take, staring at the man, “lizard like?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lizardy, you know somehow both slimy and dry, and like you might just run up a tree if a cloud passes over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well when you put it that way, I totally know what you mean cause I've been totally trying to look like that, Jesus Stewy, fucking rude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay whatever, it was intended as a complement, your skin looks nice,” he yields.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, from time to time, moisturize, I am part of civilization.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ro-Ro, I’m realizing now, we’ve never been to a Russian bath together, I’ll put something on the calendar.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he can do is shake his head, fighting with Stewy to get out of whatever plan the man has in his head is near impossible. “Sounds great.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think tomorrow will go well, I’m sure the old loyalists might play a few games, but I like you, Sandy likes you, you’re safe while we’re safe,” he reassures, and Roman doesn’t know how much of it he believes. He accepts it because he doesn't really have many other options. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Stewy said I look like a lizard and then said to basically follow his lead at the board meeting tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  A lizard? I’ve always thought of you more as a ferret or meerkat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> JFC. My options are lizard or rodent, such fucking kind people I have in my life here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Sorry what exactly do you think you are?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> King of the jungle shit, I’m a leopard or a hyena or something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  If it makes you feel better, you can be a hyena. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Do you think it’s a good idea?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Self identifying as a hyena? No, but knock yourself out.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  I think you’re more useful to them alive then dead right now, it’s hard for Kendall or anyone to rile a comeback with old friends if there’s still a Roy at the helm in some sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   What if I joined them, what if I was part of it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   You’d be a fucking idiot, but do as you please.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Cause I’d be first in the cull?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   No because they are awful and you just shouldn’t, but I think that personally and for the sake of the industry, they aren’t my family</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   I’m not a therapist, but in the last 3 months you’ve been held hostage, held on a boat until you pledged loyalty to the family, saw your dad get publicly shived by your brother, lost all connection to your family, and then had your father abandon you, I can’t understand how you’re still standing, let alone succeeding, I think you should focus on that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>When you put it that way…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s two minutes later when his phone rings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roman Roy, society of the sad boys, how may I direct your call?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What exactly does one do in the Society of Sad Boys?” Gerri poses, a hint of whimsy in her voice he’s not accustomed to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk about how the women we’re trying to sleep with think we look like lemurs and how sometimes we think about getting a cat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meerkat and you don’t want a cat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know? I’d name it Sir Cunt Ruffles, he’d be amazing,” he jokes. It gets a laugh out of her and that’s all he was trying for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nan has a cat, creepy hairless thing. I do not see the appeal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That thing was disgusting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears her shifting through the phone, likely changing how she’s holding it. It makes him wonder if she’s at the office or home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re okay?” she asks with some hesitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Same old same old, just my life,” he hedges, hoping she’ll take it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth, from the outside it seems like things are improving at Waystar,” she offers and he can picture her fake, nice smile she does when she’s clearly lying. It’s the face she makes a lot around Shiv. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have hobbies?” He asks in a ploy mostly to change the topic but also because he’s been thinking about her for days now and can’t picture her doing anything but work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I have hobbies.” She sounds bored by the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean other than seducing the COOs of rival companies,” he says, trying to get her back in on it. “I mean like painting or making craft beer or gardening, that shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roman, I understand what hobbies are,” she condescends. “Do you not have any hobbies?” she’s amused at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drinking and jerking off, don’t count right?” he jokes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not typically, but if that’s all you have, I guess the Society of Sad Boys is about right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you, what’s so great about your hobbies?” He’s actually kind of mad about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was kidding,” she concedes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Reading shouldn’t count by the way,” he proclaims. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why? Because you can’t read it can’t be anyone else's hobby?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like saying you like music, like yeah every Sally, Reggie and Dipshit Lou likes music. Most people can read, so what if you do it more than other people,” he says in a very childish defensive tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just for the clarity of the record though, Rome, you can read right?” Gerri pokes, a delight in her voice he hasn’t heard since dinner at Tern Haven. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I say no, will you be my tutor? Can I get hands on instruction, since you are such a hobbyist reader?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think you could cover my rates,” she counters, a bit of challenge in it. “I mean if you still had your inheritance I wouldn’t be worried, but now, I’d hate to see you take on a financial burden like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I assume you take services in lieu of payment.” He settles back on the bed, interest to seeing how far she lets this go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An arrangement could be made,” she says, stopping short of what she clearly wants to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a slight lull in the conversation after that, “You at work?” he asks, feeling compelled to clarify it, in case that’s the reason she’s pumped the breaks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I have a couple things to finish up, then will be heading out. I should actually get back to it, but I was serious, about the distance from the family. I’m not your lawyer, but as a friend, you should be careful.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs, happy to hear her call herself his friend, but also depressed at the thought of his family’s ongoing strife. “Yeah, I know that, I appreciate it, I really do. Have a nice rest of your night.” He’s ready to hang up before remembering, “Tomorrow?” he leaves it there for her to take or leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll text you info when I have it if that’s okay.” She says, sounding distracted, likely already have turned her mind back to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By all means, I’ll see you then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have a good night, Roman,” she signs off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hates the executive conference room. Nothing ever good has ever happened in this room, except maybe all the times he hasn’t been fired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandy opens up the floor and they do the typical pageantry. Even while his father ran the board, he has never said a word at these meetings unless he was provided a sheet of which to read. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ewan had somehow kept his seat and was having Greg serve as his proxy while he was nursing a cold in Canada. It feels slightly dangerous having Greg back in the building after he so significantly helped Kendall. But the kid stays quiet, he looks more professional than he ever did when he was hanging around Tom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s smoother than Stewy made it seem, but there is a little friction when Sandy discusses recapitalization. He keeps an eye on Greg, whose attention is clearly peaked. All of the votes go Stewy’s way, and he doesn’t have to break any ties or anything, so he feels generally good about the ordeal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They close the meeting earlier than expected, he heads back to his office but Greg calls after him, making him pause in the hallway as the giant makes his way over to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Roman, how are you doing?” Greg asks, seemingly still not grown out of his stoner vibes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman looks around, there’s enough people strewn about that he knows he can’t just tell him to fuck off, “Super, how are you doing pal?” the sarcasm as obvious as a broken axle on a wheelbarrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, really good, doing well actually. I was wondering, a ponderance, if you’d be interested in going out for dinner maybe, if you’re free tonight?” he lets the question sit for about three seconds before speedily adding, “I think maybe my grandfather is actually interested in transitioning his seat to me, so it would be helpful, I think for me, but maybe in the long run for you as well, if I could pick your brain maybe? And we could do that over a meal. At a restaurant.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman feels like he might have somehow entered a bizarro world. “I have plans tonight, maybe another time, text me sometime next week?” He starts walking away, but Greg cautiously yells after him, “I don’t think I actually have your number.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman is a couple steps from his office, he pulls open the door, looking back at Greg, doing everything he can to not just flip him off. “I’m pretty sure Kendall has it, why don’t you see if you can get it from him,” he says, before stepping into the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerri texted him an address, which he is positive is not Gerri’s home. He looks it up and it’s a hotel, which makes him feel a little dirty. She follows up with a room number. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hits the gym hoping to exhaust his body and possibly his mind, but gets not such luck. Fucking Cousin Greg and whatever bullshit he’s pulling. It was a plausible brush off, but he’s got a million different ways to get Roman’s number, he must have his email and desk phone from his time at Waystar. It’s likely a play from Kendall, feed back the board’s position on things, understand the dynamics before his next big move. God forbid his brother just reach out and call him, answer a couple of texts every now and again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His trainer has “become a nutrition consultant” which he understands to mean the man has started a blog about something he knows nothing about, but feels like he has vital information worth sharing. The guy spent 20 minutes in their last session discussing the benefits of an exclusively ungulate based diet and that maybe the pain he feels behind his eyes after a long day of work, staring at a computer, might be related to his consumption of birds, dairy, vegetables or gluten. He was interested to find out that giraffe was an acceptable meat. The conversation made him actually consider talking about his diet with an actual expert, but he settles for a slice of pizza and whatever shame or joy based poor food decisions he makes later in the evening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerri said 9. He’s considering somewhere between 9:15 and 9:30, but he’s standing in his living room, staring at the sex couch, at 8:40 feeling like a teenager. The entire way there, he’s not sure if he’s relieved she didn’t pick a Waystar hotel. It wouldn’t be too big of a deal, and she probably booked it through someone else with a name and everything, but it wouldn’t have been a big deal for him to get a suite at one of the usual places.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>9:10 he knocks on the door, patiently waits. He showered and changed, but his hair is still a little wet. Dressing down and in a small part to be less obvious, he put on his usual totally covert disguise of a Mets hat and grey zip up hoodie. He’s not under the impression that he’s supposed to dress up to meet someone for sex in a hotel room, but he wonders if he should have put in more of an effort as he waits for her to open the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finally opens it, and he doesn’t really wait to be invited to step in, already hating how long he spent standing in the hallway. It’s a suite which he finds less sleazy than the alternative. The tv in the lounge is playing PGM on mute and there is a laptop with some papers spread out on the coffee table in front of it, a half empty glass of wine resting on top. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This your office away from the office?” he asks taking in the scene, a little skeptical about what is going on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m having the floors redone at my place. It’s been a total catastrophe, I’ve been here for a week,” she explains remaining awkwardly by the door. It’s the first he thinks she’s ever seemed timid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to intrude, we could,” he pauses trying to find the best way to say it, “I’m okay with hosting, I don’t want you to feel put out or anything.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs and quirks her mouth, “It was my invitation.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not entirely sure what that means, but he lets it slide, his mind done trying to solve the mystery of this place and onto taking her in. She’s in a flowy skirt that breaks above the knee, and a NY Public Library crewneck sweater. She looks soft and smart, like he’s interrupted her evening of homework in front of the tv, before she puts on a classic rom-com and drifts off to sleep. The thought makes him smile. Her curled up, on the couch, until she got tired. She’d smile sleepily at something Sandra Bullock is doing on screen, his fingers in her hair, head on his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wine?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her question pulls him out of his fantasy world. “Sure,” he responds, trying to focus on the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The board meeting turn out alright?” she asks, handing him a glass, maybe measuring up his mood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not too bad, Uncle Ewan had his grandkid fill in, Greg, fucking gnat of a human being. But yeah, everything was typical.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know he still sends me a Christmas card every year,” she says with a genuine smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uncle Ewan?” It surprises him, but Ewan is an odd duck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, apparently he’s a fan,” she seems smug about it and it’s too cute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of you or your corporate products?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not both?” she takes a sip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gerri, are you angling to be my sister's godmother and aunt?” he says with faux scandal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he wants to stay in Canada, dance at gala once a year and leave me in his will, I can’t see the harm.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The rumors were true, Gerri “golddigger” Kellman, once a shark, always a shark,” he says, wanting to kiss the smug smirk off her face, so pleased with herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well only once I drained you for all you’re worth,” she steps forward, setting her emptied glass on a table just to the side of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna make it easy for you, I’m a notoriously great investor, might take ages, he could be dead by then,” he can smell her, all warm spice that he hasn’t associated with her before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make do with what I have then,” her eyes never leaving his lips, but not making a move towards them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brings a hand to her neck, pulling her in and capturing her mouth. They’re better at it every time they come together. Her mouth tastes of wine and he wants to get drunk on it. He feels his mind slipping away, unable to think of anything but her skin, lips, tongue, fingers, hair. She pulls him forward, closer to her before stepping backwards, guiding him to the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls the sweater over her head, happy to find just a bra beneath it. Holding the shirt in his hands he can’t help but laugh, “Did you already have this or is this a literacy joke?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I already had it, but did purposefully change in to for the taunt,” she laughs, running her hand through his hair, smirking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Such a brat,” he says, kissing her hard and lifting her onto the bed. He gets on his knees before her, pulling down her skirt, raising his eyebrows at her choice of black silk. “Fucking sexy and too smug for your own good, but still a brat,” he says with a smile, before he crawls forward, between her legs, burying his face in her chest as he runs his hands across her body, until she’s sighing and pulling on his hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls away, her annoyance vocalized, but he sheds a layer, leaving him in only his jeans. She reaches out for his hips, and he is tempted, but bats away her hands, sinking back to his knees, pushing gently on her breast bone until she lays back, sliding her legs over his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks briefly that this feeling must be what Kendall gets from drugs. Addiction suddenly makes a little more sense, he could spend the rest of his life chasing this high. Her soft sighs, growing more frequent, reaching and covering his hand on her hip, the jolts of her hips he chases with his mouth, are all intoxicating, he feels elevated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s coming down, as he slides away from her, stripping his jeans, grabbing the condom he was keeping in his pocket. She pulls herself slightly up the bed, giving him enough room to climb up. It’s his turn to be smug, staring at her strung out from her orgasm below him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lays along her side, stealing kisses, letting his thumb trace aimless patterns across her ribs until she’s had enough. She’s deadly sexy, but her cheeks are rosy from her fading orgasm and she has a smile, clearly a product of a brain flooded with serotonin, makes her seem cute and fuzzy. He would be happy to just kiss her smiling lips and run his fingers through her hair, but she’s pulling on his shoulder, asking without words for him to cover her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes it slow, letting her move below him, roll her hips, to meet him in a way that best works for her. She tries to dictate his pace with an insistent hand on his ass, but he won't submit. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Greedy too,” he grunts into her neck. Her muscles tighten and it surprises him, feeling like the worlds best vise, “Fuck,” he grinds out, speeding up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just like that,” she pleads, “don’t stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, so perfect,” he starts babbling between grunts, his mouth just resting open against her skin, “so good, you’re so fucking good, can’t stop.”  He holds out a couple seconds after she tips over the edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels exhausted, collapsing to the side, catching his breath. The weight of the week and the endorphins streaming into his blood teaming up on him. He drags himself out of the bed to the bathroom, to clean up before she can. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He comes back out and she’s in the sweatshirt and a pair of very soft looking olive shorts. It makes him a little uncomfortable, seeing her clearly ready for bed, while he stands there naked, staring. Nothing in the world seems worse than pulling his jeans back on, but he shuffles over, pulling on the pants, yawning three times in the process. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances over at her, and thinks she might understand what he has had to go through the last two nights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to stay for a drink?” she asks, in a voice he can’t read. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s wanted her to say yes to the offer both times he suggested it. There’s no certainty that she’s offering it genuinely and not just to be polite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” he says, following her back out to the lounge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabs another bottle of wine and fills his glass, before walking around the couch to get hers, settling in with it. He follows her lead, sitting close but just out of reach, as she curls her feet below her, an elbow on the back of the couch, hand supporting her head, staring at him like he’s a puzzle she’s going to crack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about this gnat named Greg, I’m intrigued, he must be Marianne’s son right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, how she knows something about everything. “Yeah, showed up around the time Dad had the stroke, gave him a job to piss off Ewan I guess.”  He tries to think of good Greg stories, makes her laugh with the sand mites story. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought about seeing it, when I heard Connor was financing it, but it closed so quickly,” she sounds disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I could, I would try and describe it but fuck if I knew what was happening, there was sand, and people kept staring off into space and saying shit about time, missed a real opportunity to be high for that one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine most encounters with Connor would improve from some chemical enhancement.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geraldine! You’ve been holding out on me,” he slips forward, a hand on her leg in excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come off it, THC is my limit now, Nan is sensitive to substances.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What I am hearing is if I get gummies, I could get high and fuck Gerri Kellman?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Possibly,” she shrugs but the smile on her face makes him believe it’s more than possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to ask, you must have been such hot shit in the 80s, must have had so good fucking nights,” he can’t help sliding his hand along her thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None of that is a question,” she doesn’t give him and inch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me drug stories,” he says petulantly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To his surprise she does, in a sort of one for one deal, until they’re out of good ones. He kept their glasses topped off, but he finally emptied the bottle between their glasses, and he feels anxious like the party is about to end right when it got good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches for her phone, and checks the time, and he knows he should probably text his driver, but she’s staring at him like she doesn’t want him to leave. So he doesn’t say anything, just finishes his glass of wine, while telling her about the time he tried to hike to the bottom of the grand canyon after a night of molly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s getting late,” she says softly, shifting her gaze from his face to the hands he’s kept on her body for the last hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Been a long week,” he replies offhandedly, trying to read what she’s saying beyond her words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should get some rest,” her gaze back on his mouth, blinking more than necessary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should,” he says with more confidence than he feels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she pets his beard, before standing and walking towards the bedroom, not waiting for him to follow. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He’s too fucking warm. It’s the only thing his mind can process as it slowly focuses on his surroundings. There are too many blankets on him, he’s wearing a shirt, weird, and  he’s attached himself to what he’s certain is a fucking heater. He shifts away slightly from the source of his discomfort and notices it follows him, brushes him. It takes that for all of it to come back, the events of last night. Gerri’s hotel room, sex, wine, more sex, and bizarrely enough, sleep. Leaving him here now, in her bed, dawn breaking through the windows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does his best not to move, hopefully not waking her with his early motion. His hand is just past her hip, fingers tucked inside a garment. It’s a weird place to be. He’s never been one for the big spoon position, always preferred a great deal of distance or the little spoon role before. But here he is, the front of his very awake body pressed up against the back of hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is no way he can get out of this without waking her up. He is certain of that, absolutely certain. For the sake of their sanity, he tries to pull his erection away from her, scooting his hips back, holding his breath. To his total surprise she follows, slides right back to him. The contact triggers him to release his held breath, a rush of air directly past her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re both silent and still for a moment, it feels like an eternity. But then he feels it, the slight push and roll of her hips against his crotch. The friction causes him to unexpectedly whimper, sliding his whole body closer to make sure it doesn’t stop. He moves his finger tips a little, but still afraid this might be a dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soft moan followed by a stretch of her neck confirms to him that this is real. Sleepy, barely awake, Gerri Kellman is grinding up against his morning wood, in a hotel room on a Saturday morning. The thought is enough to cause a stroke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifts, situating better so his dick is pressed just so, he runs his hand back, gripping his fingers against her hip bone. His head falls forward, mouth to her neck. He thinks about whispering, “Good Morning,” but most likely he’ll sound like a squeaky toy and she’ll kick him out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay like that for a while, sort of in and out of a sexy dance and sleep, but slowly over time the rhythm gets stronger, and her hand grips his on her hip. She lighty pulls his arm, he’d never offer resistance, as she moves their hands under her sweater to her bare breast. She doesn’t let go, keeping his hand in hers pressed against her skin, like she is invested in his education and skill or something. He follows her direction, massaging, tracing, squeezing just as she does, keeps it up when she releases to work on the neglected twin. She sighs softly, her hips constantly moving, hand busy at work teasing her nipple. He rakes his teeth against her shoulder, feels himself basically drooling on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she had the patience for it, he’d kill to try and get her off like this, it’s probably impossible but he’d be willing to try forever. But she isn’t patient, her hips getting more insistent, begging for something between her legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls at his arm again, trying to direct it into her shorts, but he’s in the mood to play now. He holds his hand against her ribs, just underneath her breast holding her still. Challenge acknowledged, she doesn’t follow through, choses to reach for him instead, squeezing his ass before sliding her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers. He grunts in response, right against her neck, before attaching his mouth to her skin as she stretches to give him more room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gets his boxers halfway down his thighs before he realizes she’s doing it. He’s comfortable to admit he’s never going to beat her, she’ll always be steps ahead of him, but he’s never going to make it easy. He gets her shorts to her knees with a surprise tug, pulls them the rest of the way with his foot. It’s a bit of a shock she was bare underneath, sort of accelerates his plans, but he’s certainly not disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In retribution, she takes him into her hand, sliding against her palm before wrapping her hand around him. The angle isn’t great, so she can’t do much, but grip him, but it makes him shutter and let out a low, long, “fucking hell,” into her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes his hand off her for the first time, grabbing the one wrapped around his dick and gently pulling it away. She makes a displeased noise in the back of her throat, like a whine a child gets when their favorite toy gets taken away. But she’s back to her quiet moans when he pulls her leg up for a moment, sliding his dick between her thighs, before letting it go, thighs together making the perfect tunnel for his cock. He takes their interlaced hands to her core, trying to lavish every nerve ending with attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s wet enough that each press of his hips, he slips through, fucking exquisite against her heat. He’s dying to do this again with her vibrator pressed against her clit, make her beg for him to slip inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel their fingers on her clit when he thrusts and it’s fucking insane. A little shift makes the angle better and she’s making a noise that may be his new favorite sound. Her hands shift, speeding up, surprised when her free one claims his, pulling him away from the action. There is nothing in this moment he wouldn’t do for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She brings his hand up, not to her chest as he figured, but his palm to her lips, pressing a soft kiss and a puff of air moan to his sweaty skin. It makes his eyes close, trying to focus on her lips, the slick push and pull below, when she slips two of his fingers into her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He short circuits, “Fuck,” his hips stuttering, mouth dropping back to her shoulder, doing everything he can to not bite into her skin. It’s fucking pornographic what she’s doing to his fingers, moaning around them as she races him for the high they’re both chasing. He can’t take it, needs her to be with him, pulling his fingers back, joining her hand on her clit, slick from her mouth. It’s enough, she stiffens against him, a high, long whine, he’s never heard before. He doesn’t have time to really catalogue it, finally giving over to the feeling, pulling back to try and keep his mess to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls onto his back, he feels cold now, the sweat now causing a chill, goosebumps rising on his arms. He’s trying to slow his breathing, eyes closed, letting the good feeling last for a minute. The bed shifts, hears her slip out, walk away, a door quietly closes. A nagging feeling tells him he shouldn’t still be laying here, dick out, when she returns. The shower’s running, so he gives himself 2 minutes, before walking out to the kitchen skin to wash his hands. His skin feels sticky, a little itchy, and he knows he desperately needs a shower. Hastily dressing he hears the water shut off and is surprised at his instinct to run.  He’s on the bed, pulling on his shoes when she steps out of the bathroom, in a robe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks a little startled to see him there, which makes him embarrassed but also a little happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finishes, standing up, giving her an approving once over, “Your hair is curly?” he says, or maybe asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it is,” she gives him an unimpressed look, raising her eyebrows like she’s impatient with him now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wiggles his fingers, “I’m gonna go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s a step out of the door before he pops his head back in, “It’s cute,” smiling at the wrinkle of her nose. Waves a little, before offering a tossed of goodbye. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rinses off when he gets home, feels lost of what to do with his day, having started it in such a strange place. No texts all day, wonders if he’s fucked it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By Tuesday, he’s decided he wouldn’t be the first to reach out. Even though Stewy said some stupid shit that he really wanted to skewer him for. By Wednesday, he’s actually kind of pissed off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tom stops by his office, looking like a skittish cat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Got a minute?” he asks from the door, weary to step into the space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if it’s bad news,” Roman counters, but flicks his finger indicating Tom’s welcome to come in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Greg reached out, looking for your number, I just wanted to let you know before I went ahead and did it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weird,” he goes back to checking his computer, thinking it over a little. “You two didn’t stay in touch?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was in last week for the board meeting, I told him to get my info from Kendall, figured they’d still be tight.” He’s more thinking out loud than talking to Tom at this point. “Dad would have killed him, coming back here after all that, but hey we’re all traitors now.” He looks at Tom, confusion so poorly concealed. “You liked him right? Good kid?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tom clears his throat, “Yeah, yes. I think he was doing the best he could, maybe a little too much for himself in the end but this place changes people.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the first time he’s ever thought about Tom’s experience in all of this. Worker bee, sycophant, to in-law, how much easier and harder that might be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay? Things going okay here at least?” Roman gestures aimlessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he starts nodding like he’s trying to convince himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go for it,” Roman says, but clarifies when Tom looks a little lost, too deep in his own head, “You can give Greg my cell.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will do. Thanks!” He doesn’t wait for a response from Roman, just heads out the door. He wonders if he’s been noted as toxic somewhere he doesn't have access to, one to avoid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s 9 pm when Greg texts, clearly something he has workshopped extensively. It’s a five paragraph essay with too much random information that culminates in a dinner invitation. If it were anyone else, he’d think he’s being set up for a mob hit, by the newest recruit trying to prove his value. If he is to tally the pros and cons of dinner with Greg he’s got a mark in both categories for Greg’s personality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He replies with a “sure, sounds good”. If ever there was a time to cash book time on Gerri’s calendar to get through a shitty meeting, dinner with Greg would certainly qualify.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stewy pokes him the next morning, more manic than he’s used to seeing. Someone at PGM suggested to him that there is talk internally about bringing Kendall into the fold and apparently Roman gets the brunt of his frustration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s a little excited to see Stewy riled up about it, “Sure, he’s going to go over there and do what? Pivot to “identity politics are toxic, whatever happened to personal responsibility, socialism is bad.” This guy couldn’t manage buying a fucking website. I told him to just go to tech, just lay low in LA for 2 fucking years and we’d be able to bring him back no problems.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman is impressed, he found Stewy annoying his entire life, Kendall looking up to the boy, always ditching him to spend time with Stewy. He always figured it was more of a hero worship thing, more than a genuine friendship, but it’s reassuring to see he seems to actually care.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They considered selling to us, maybe it’s a play, like step one Kendall in charge, step two manage an acquisition with friendlies,” he gestures to between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why take Waystar’s leftovers? He struggled in Shanghai, couldn’t manage a hostile takeover, nothing but scandals during role as “Co-COO”. I do not get this. It’s like you cannot help this guy. Every fucking turn he makes the absolute stupidest call. Even when you give him explicit instructions, he needs to sabotage it.” He’s talking to no one now. It might be time to reel him in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I mean Gerri Kellman did work here, in defense of Waystar employees, but I agree, weird move, so weird it’s probably not even real. Just someone's bullshit, maybe my dads, maybe PGM is trying to provoke us, who knows.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gerri was a corporate lawyer at a media organization that went to be a corporate lawyer at another media organization. Kendall was someone's kid who is only that, his CV is this place doing drugs and fucking up. Logan Roy’s only hope for a legacy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well I feel like we’re now in the insulting me as well portion of this rant, so Stewy, it’s probably just bullshit, I’ll try and find out more. Maybe this weekend go to Prague, steal someone's husband, wife, whatever, come back stress free. And then we might talk about what position you promised my brother for his grand comeback.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to come? Could be fun. You were always such a bummer at parties,” his eyes are lit up with the idea, completely ignoring the last part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well thank you, but I’m on PR house arrest remember?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waves it off as he leaves the office, Roman collapsing onto the couch out of exhaustion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg is seated when he arrives at the restaurant, two thirds his water glass empty, so there’s a possibility he’s been there for awhile or absurdly tall people are more thirsty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls the seat out and settles in, looking for a waiter before anything else, knowing his only way through this is alcohol. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gregory, I took you for more of a Chuck-E-Cheese guy,” Roman smiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love Chuck-E-Cheese,” his eyes lighting up, “Tom brought me here once, it was better than the place with the birds.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes him wonder if Greg can afford anything on the menu, “This does seem like a Shiv place,” he looks around, noticing there are three or four women that are similar to Shiv in style scattered throughout the restaurant and bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a man towards the corner of the restaurant sitting alone that he recognizes, but can’t place. He considers taking a picture and sending it to Shiv, she was always better at that shit than he was, probably a more important skill in politics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for coming,” Greg says, rubbing his hands together before resting them on the table, clearly full of nervous energy, “I wanted to apologize for what I said on the boat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It drags Roman’s attention back to the man in front of him, he knows he’ll have to reciprocate for what he said. “It wasn’t unprovoked, we’re family, we’re fine,” Roman shrugs, waving his hands a little to try and push the idea away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am sorry for it though, I’m sorry for a lot of the ways I behaved,” Greg admits, not making eye contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman is starting to get the picture of what this dinner is going to be and regrets agreeing to it. He rubs his forehead a little, happy for the waiter who deposits a double of whiskey on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Been spending some time with your grandfather?” Taking a long sip of his drink, not finding relief fast enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s been good, but also very boring, and I think I’d like to not be, I think a change would be good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you and Kendall didn’t stay tight?” Roman asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A couple months, and then things sort of fell apart, I think he thought it’d go a different way. But my grandfather was really proud of it, so I went and stayed with him, and did some stuff for his foundations, but I really like Canada, I do, but I don’t want to live in Canada, and also I don’t really like it there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he talks, Romans trying to see how long he can go without blinking, it seems to have the opposite effect as Greg just keeps going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think there was some interesting work at Waystar and I did like my time at cruises that wasn’t, you know, about all the bad stuff, but I was thinking, maybe, there’s a place at Parks? Or even, maybe I could try and get a spot in the management training program again. Or maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman has to stop him before the entirety of his mind melts away, “Greg, are you asking for a job?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg opens his mouth, in what Roman is sure will be a uselessly long response. He lifts his hand and closes it into a fist. “Yes or no would be fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” Greg responds, like they need to figure out what he means together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s probably something at parks, but you signed an NDA last time, and we didn’t sue you when you broke it, so I’m sure there will be a bunch of bullshit with legal you’ll have to review. I’ll talk to some people in the office about it on Monday.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seems settled by this, sitting a little lowers, moving his shoulders like an excited marionette. “Great, wow, that’s really great Roman, I really appreciate it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They get their food, and Roman realizes he’s still trapped with this muppet of a man for the rest of the meal. His need to fill the silence is typically an irritation but is advantageous here. Roman fades in and out of listening, hesitant to spend any brain power on Greg’s machinations on the best vegetable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He surveys the room again, hoping he can get some entertainment trying to determine how many people are being paid for their company. He notices the man he was studying earlier has a companion now, and all at once he places how he knows him, recognizes his date, and downs the rest of his drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s a Goldman guy. Gerri was dating him for a while, a couple years back, and it pissed Logan and Baird off to no end. Roman thought they had broken up, but he can’t remember why he thought that now, staring at them from across a restaurant. He’s racking his brain through all of their conversations, and he’s positive she always implied she was single. Implied but didn’t confirm, but heavily implied. It’s annoying because he never considered them exclusive and now he’s pissed about that. He’s not a jealous guy.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to focus back on Greg, but he spends the rest of the meal glancing over at Gerri’s table, scrutinizing their body language, any time they seem to laugh or move. She gets up, headed towards where he assumes the restrooms are and he considers following, but it’d be an ambush, and while in his mind it results in  him fucking her over a bathroom sink, it would most likely end up with her never speaking to him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lasts as long as he can with Greg, asking the waiter for the check, covering the bill which looks like a large relief to Greg. He stops in the bathroom on the way out, hoping Greg gets in a cab or clown car, before he has to go out and wait for his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a shitty idea, but he’s in a shitty mood now and can’t think better of it. Stopping at the bar before he leaves, he orders another whiskey and asks the bartender if he can cover the bill for Gerri’s table. He regrets it, sort of instantly. Doesn’t know what he was thinking would happen, but he loses his gumption, throws back the whiskey and leaves before they finish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs a bottle of scotch and a glass from the cabinet when he gets home. Pulls up his laptop to start an email to HR about finding a spot from Greg, wishes he at least had asked the man to forward him his resume. He texts Greg, letting him know he gave HR his contact info and hopefully he’d hear from them soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling like his mind had been thoroughly fucked for the evening, he heads to his bathroom, starting the shower before deciding it had been too long since he’s had a shower scotch. He’s on his way back with a healthy glass, when there’s a hard knock on his door. Knowing there was a shot it could be Russell, the teenager who lives a floor below, he grabs a robe and turns off the shower before he answers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hardly understands what’s happening before Gerri’s inside his apartment and he’s closing the door behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By all means come in,” he says, mildly annoyed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s just staring at him, unblinking, arms crossed. She’s in her work clothes, hair up, glasses fallen slightly down her nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drink?” he tries, but she’s just staring at him. “Not that this isn’t super fun, but I was actually just headed for a shower. Want to get in on that or are you here to yell at me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She exhales in an aggressive way, annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again, building up such a great memory for my spank bank here, but you’re the one who has stormed into my house, clearly there is something on your mind,” he’s trying to start a fight at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay good start,” he grins, “I’ll take that under advisement. Anything in particular or just generally?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How and why were you there?” her voice like a hot blade through his bullshit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cousin Greg invited me to dinner, apparently that is the only restaurant he knows that isn’t a Chuck-E-Cheese.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you just thought…” she starts, but he interrupted, “I thought, oh look there’s Gerri, I bet I can ruin her night by dropping a grand on her meal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw clenches. “It was rude.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See I thought it was kind, give Larry’s wallet a break, stock price hasn’t been much over 200 for like 6 months now, thought he'd appreciate the gesture but clearly I did him a disservice, unless, is he waiting downstairs? This your foreplay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fuck off.” He’s kind of sick of being yelled at in his own home. “I didn’t storm over there, I wont even ask for an explanation, I was petty in the easiest fucking way for you to explain away, so fucking what, you got a little embarrased cause Roman Roy did something stupid and your boyfriend didn’t like it, fuck you, get a better boyfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says, pissed off but now a little more managed, “He invites me out sometimes, when we're both between people.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s finding there might be a law of thermodynamics in play here regarding anger, because while she seems to be dissipating hers, he’s getting fired up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you accepted?” barely covering his fury. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something wrong with that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he bites back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to apologize?” she asks plainly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he replies in as much calm as he can summon, “are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he just stares at her. Neither makes a move to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He actually doesn’t want to touch her right now, something uneasy about it, too vulnerable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to shower,” he says, looking at her again, turning and leaving, bringing the scotch with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands under the hot spray for a couple minutes, just thinking about the water and nothing else. Her serious, furrowed look keeps coming to the front of his mind and he just tries to breath it out with any guilt or shame it brings with it. He’ll apologize tomorrow, spend 45 minutes coming up with a text and then a follow up text that covers the first one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel, running another through his damp hair. He’s surprised to find Gerri sitting on his bed, staring at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured you’d have left,” he says, mostly because he’s not sure what other thoughts he can muster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The symmetry is not lost on me,” and it takes a minute for him to follow, but he thinks he gets her meaning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He throws his extra towel back onto the bathroom floor, walking to his closet to grab some clothes. Whatever conversation they’re about to have he’s not sure a towel will give him any ground to stand on. He comes back out in sweatpants and a tee shirt, the contrast between their looks makes him smile a little, despite everything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans against a chair, opposite the bed, waiting for her to say something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think we really sorted out the rules of this very well.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes him laugh a little, the obviousness of the statement, “Here I was thinking we’d agreed on anarchy, but sure, let’s throw some rules at it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grimaces at him, unimpressed with his approach to the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this working for you?” she asks, genuinely, and it startles him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The arrangement, it was your idea, and you make jokes and do stuff like you did tonight but, I’m, is this what you wanted?” She is looking up at him and he knows she’s being practical, approaching the conversation from a couple sides, gathering as much intel as she can, but he’s still flummoxed by the question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it for you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She closes her eyes, drops her head a little and if her point is to make him feel difficult, it’s working. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like parts of it, parts of it work for me,” he provides, hoping that will move the conversation away from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which parts don’t work?” she says with a truly curious expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s feeling anxious, not really into all this attention, not ready to discuss certain feelings out loud, to her. His brain empties out of all reasonable things to say, any jokes or platitudes he can use as cover, just the one thing that’s bothered him for the last seven days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I the one that’s supposed to text first after you kick me out of your hotel room or?” he didn’t intend for it to sound so aggrieved. He turns around, exhales, and then comes back, “Sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you did mean it,” lips in a tight line. She must have equal frustration boiling in her because she stands up, and he notices she’s taken off her heels while he was away. It makes him feel a little softer. “I thought this would be an equal thing,” she says, but he can’t make sense of what that means. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t feel this is equal?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gerri, I swear to God, I need you to just say what you fucking mean, the coy shit is great for the sexy lead up but I’m at a loss here” he begs, feeling pathetic and stupid in her company. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You suggested this set up, someone to text, the arrangement,” she stalls, while he agrees with a nod of his head, but is waiting for more. “You never proceeded to do that though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just kept inviting myself over,” she states, like it’s some sort of indisputable fact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, you’re upset because you came over here, we had what I thought was pretty great sex, followed by you fucking right off after, leaving me with the impression you’d never want to see me again, and you’re mad because I didn’t immediately ask you to go again? Or the time you watched me putting on my shoes like I was pissing on the unknown soldier's tomb.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t and I didn’t leave right away,” she says defensively, sitting back down on the end of the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just responses with a face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry I didn’t stay for a tea party,” she says a little petulantly, which he finds cute, but doesn’t want to right now. “It was your space I didn’t want to intrude.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a nice time. Last Friday, it was the best time I’ve had in a very long time,” he says without looking at her, “but it’s pretty shitty after, and it’s shitty that it was nice and then silence for a week, so if you were looking for things that don’t work,” he shrugs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was sore the whole weekend. A reminder every time I moved, which,” she clears her throat, “made me feel silly, and insecure so I accepted Larry’s invitation, because that was simple.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t mean to laugh, but the thought makes him feel so light, “Sorry,” he laughs, “what I’m hearing is, I fucked you so good you couldn’t move, and you thought the best thing to do was go back to a soon to be septuagenarian.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A weight is lifted when she smiles after he says it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time, just let me know, a quick, “A+ on the sex” text if you will, and then takes some ibuprofen. Save me a $1000 bucks on a dinner I didn’t even eat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll try to remember that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So we’re good?” he asks, stepping towards her cautiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wont try and run away the second the condom comes off?” he pokes and grins as she makes an unimpressed face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll stay as long as the company is good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I can kiss you now?” he steps closer, getting to his knees, to approach her at eye level. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you must,” she says, before he kisses the smile off of her face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I start every chapter like, here comes the angst, and then end up being a warm chocolate chip cookie by the end. </p>
<p>Thanks for continuing to stop by, hope you've enjoyed your stay...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s been a considerable amount of time since he has had anyone stay the night. He’s in the kitchen, making coffee because it seems like a reasonable thing to do, and she’s in his bathroom and he can’t handle a repeat of last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fucks around for a while, but gives up and comes back into the bedroom, cup in hand. She’s  standing in her wrinkled blouse and skirt, hair pulled back in a bun, showing off their curly nature. It makes him want to touch it. He watches her eyes draw to the coffee in his hand, and he feels compelled to offer it to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she says as she accepts the coffee, looking around a little like she’s not sure what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought initially when she agreed to stay the night she felt compelled because their earlier conversation, but he’s now thinking she might have an affinity for sleepy, early morning sex. Her soft sighs and languid pace drift through his mind, keeping an eye on her while he fetches his phone from the night stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” he says, more for his sake then for hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks over at her, watches her take a sip of the coffee and then grimace, clearly unimpressed with his barista skills. Shaking her head she walks it back to him, as if keeping it in hand would be a sign of approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank called twice,” he says it softly, but knows she heard from the new look she’s giving him. Their fingers brush as he takes the cup from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a sip of the coffee as he listens to Frank’s voicemail, a short greeting then a request for a call back, disappointing. The coffee is admittedly terrible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t say what he wants, just a chance to talk,” he says, heading out of the bedroom to pour the coffee down the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She follows, still a little cautious, he wishes she’d feel less like a prisoner and more like a long term guest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want anything?” he asks, watching her stand next to the counter without really looking comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that’s what you call coffee, I’m okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I got the proportions right, you’re welcome to give it a shot,” he points to the machine behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely host you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hosting duties nullify at third orgasm, it’s Emily Posts rules.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it now?” she leans past him to grab the beans and start a new pot. He can’t help but goose her, getting satisfaction out of her small surprised squeak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to call Frank back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is my brother working at PGM?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question makes her stop. “Not currently no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The future is a possibility though?” he points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t say,” she’s returned to the task of making coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you tell me if he’s trying to fuck me over?” he asks, feeling a little defensive like a squirt on the playground who talks back even though he’s still sore from the last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her brow is furrowed in a way that makes him think it was a stupid question. He crosses the room and pulls himself onto the counter next to her, watching her work so he doesn’t have to look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still have a favor right?” he asks, while tracing some grounds that split onto the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignores him until it’s brewing, turning to give him her attention. “It’s complicated.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Complicated like my tiny brain won't understand or complicated because he’s my brother and we’re doing this and you're loyal to PGM?” He reaches out to touch her hair, her earlier shower making it return to it’s normal curly state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to duck away, squeezing her hand on his thigh as a warning, but he doesn’t relent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not loyal to PGM,” she says quietly, a sharpness she can’t quite cover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand moves to cover hers on his leg, widening his stance and pulling her to stand in front of him. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, a non-apology for the non-insult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He can’t tell if she’s mad, her expression steeled, before she looks up at him. He watches her eyes flit from his, to his hair to his lips, knows she’s watching as he breaks out in a smile. “Are you going to call Frank back?” she asks, then watches his smile disappear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might, I haven’t decided yet, that’s more of an after coffee thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t say anything but her mouth pulls to the side. He runs his fingers through her hair to her bun, “You never wear it curly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How observant,” she pulls away, checking on the coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re beautiful either way,” but he’s gone before she can reply, going to his bedroom to get dressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s surprised she’s still there, drinking coffee in his kitchen when he comes back dressed in jeans and a sweater. She offers him a mug and he’s a little uneasy, their quick transition from her running off to talking over coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know your schedule next week?” she says before taking a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be here, other than that, not really, hopefully not another dinner with Greg,” he huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks to be doing a little math in her head before announcing, “My Tuesday and Friday should be free, there’s a benefit on Saturday I have to attend, I’ll be at Tern Haven for a part of the week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, unwilling to hide his joy at how businesslike she is while scheduling sex, “I promise you, my door is always open.” She gives him an annoyed look, “What?” he snips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The huff he receives is equally petulant, “So Friday then?” she finally says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suddenly busy Tuesday are we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you prefer Tuesday?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A smart, beautiful woman offers me her time, I‘ll take whatever I can get,” he sticks his hands in the back of his pants, tucked just in the waistband and leans against the counter, feeling greedy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tuesday it is then,” she says looking for her phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at his, the two missed calls still listed. “You still talk to Frank?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she says, not looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just hums, not sure what to do, knows he owes his personal lawyer a call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve got some contractors to yell at, I’m sure you have plenty going on so I’ll head out,” she gives him a smug little smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s certainly not running away this time, hung out beyond what she likely wanted to, but he’s still sad to see her go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the coffee,” he manages, but feels shitty about. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He calls his lawyer before Frank. The Trust has officially been dissolved and reformed. They’re doing a couple of things to challenge assets but he knows none of it will be particularly fruitful. He wonders how Shiv will handle it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His accountant set something up for Wednesday, likely to discuss what things he wants to do now that he’s officially disinherited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every part of him wants to pour a drink for this, but he sits on the couch and pulls up Franks contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Kiddo,” he answers, like the world isn’t collapsing around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank,” he clears his throat, wills himself to sound steady, “missed a couple calls from ya.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I was just trying to see how you’re doing,” he says but it’s the voice he always used before he told him bad news. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you think I’m doing Frank?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he offers and Roman believes he genuinely means it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t do it, but I’m sure you’re not just checking in, what other kind of hell is coming?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kendall is making some moves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I noticed,” he laughs, “what of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hearing that Nan is unhappy with Jack Fischer, their COO.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How nice for Ken,” he mumbles, “do you know when they’ll announce?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not sure, they’ve all been called to the compound this week, so I suspect by end of the week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good for him,” he manages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank sighs, “He’s going to start getting their protection, in the press, I just want you to be prepared that his image rehab and your father’s crusade might just worsen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure how that’s possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate the concern Frank,” he says, wanting this call to be over so he can hide under his covers and maybe die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here if you need anything, I still don’t really understand how it came to this, but you’re a good kid, the best of them honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Frank, I’ll let you know if anything comes up, but thanks for the call.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Talked to Frank. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  How’d that go?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  How do you think?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Yeah</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  So Friday?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Unless I show up to work on Wednesday or Thursday and there is a shit ton of ribbons, I think I’m gonna need something to get me through the back half of this week.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  You’ll survive.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  But I’ve been promised I’ll be back in the city by 7 on Friday</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  How’d the contractor make out?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  I’m told everything will be wrapped up by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. May have to miss our Friday date for some light murder if it’s not. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Sounds like an equally interesting form of release, I could get in on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  
  <span>🤡</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps the Kendall news to himself on Monday. Not really prepared to handle both his breakdown and Stewy'</span>
  <span>s. He keeps telling himself he’s not upset about it. Kendall deserves all the best, he tells himself. His success isn’t a problem for Roman. But. Years and years of seeing Kendall’s success as a total threat has diseased his brain. He knows that. But. He still hates this move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Karolina stops by after lunch, looking collected but clutching her phone in a way that made him uneasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a minute?” she asks, head peeking in the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, got probably an hour before I need to be anywhere, what’s up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Columbia Business School wants to know if you’d fill in tomorrow, freshman seminar on Managing Established Enterprises,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t remember how much of a useless shit I was when I went there I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just shrugs and he wishes she would at least humor him, but doesn’t actually want her to carry the burden of his bad mood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I have to write something?” he asks, not really feeling adequate in being able to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a standard speech for these types of things, I’d just go through it with you and we’d update it for the specific setting. Are you interested then? It’s college kids and there would be a mandatory Q&amp;A.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the type of shit that I think Stewy was hoping I’d do,” he says offhandedly, before considering it further, “there’s bound to be some more bad press coming, might as well either do it myself or get some cred in. Let’s do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she says, calmly maybe a little solemn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Karolina, you can tell me to fuck off and that this is a bad idea if that’s what you think, I’m by no means dying to do this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it could be really good. We should take some time to review answers to probable questions. I have some reservations when it comes to a Q&amp;A.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you mean because my father and my brother and the stories in the paper about how I’m an impotent short loser, who may be secretly gay, but also homophobic and misogynist, but no more racist then the rest of the family?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That general area of things, yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, a little preparation is probably best,” he tries to offer her a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They go back and forth for the rest of the hour, and he is impressed by how fucking good she is at her job. Flips it around in his brain for a while as some quick torture, how much harder everyone of his family members has made her job by never just listening and trusting her. He tries to apologize for it, but probably just sounds stupid and buffoonish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers to check with HR about Greg, asking if they could kindly find him somewhere he can’t be of any harm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s in the car on the way home, tempted to fuck with Shiv, but knows there will be plenty of family shit to deal with come the pending announcement. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> I have a meeting with my money manager on Wednesday, should I bring up your threat of future succubusity?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   I have a feeling he’s already accounted for such contingencies with you.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>I don’t know if you’d heard, but I’m officially a poor.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>What’s Connor going to do with all that money? I’m actually kind of excited to see. I hope Sands of Time reopens,I’d finally get a chance to experience the sand mites in person.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Thanks for your support in this difficult time.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  I’m so sorry, you’ll only inherit vast sums of wealth from only one of your parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Oh I wonder if I can get Caroline to give me Kendall and Shivs share of her estate.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   You always struck me as her favorite.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   I had the best curtsey and could drink the most tea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a little dwell in the conversation as he gets home and starts getting dinner sorted. But he checks his phone every time it buzzes just in case it’s her. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>So I saw an article today…</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>50 Ways to Blow Your Man’s Mind?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> Not so much</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sends him a link to an article from a website he’s heard of which is not a great sign. Apparently Grace has a podcast now, something he wishes he could have avoided forever. It’s about sex and relationships and he doesn’t have to go any farther in the article to know he’s about to be fucked. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  I don’t want to read it. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  She’s apparently very popular, it’s been around for over a year and a half. She never names you, nothing specific enough to confirm it, but she has a character of an ex-boyfriend, Mr. Sad Eyes. The article just indicates pretty heavily that’s you. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> And he was a great guy, just supportive, and lovely and a dream come true? Anything she says I completely deserve, I’m a fucking idiot, just fucking shit timing I guess. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>It’s not that bad, she’s pretty kind even. But it also might just be like a composite of people cause some of the stuff doesn’t really make sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets the courage up and opens the article again. He skims the “evidence list” which is all perfectly reasonable before playing a couple of the embedded clips. He gets why it could be popular, he forgot how funny and mean she could be, even when it’s her offhandedly mentioning the time he told her he hates how he can’t fart around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another clip that’s a compilation of Mr. Sad Eyes stories and that one is harder to get through, but still all accurate to what he remembers their relationship being. There are a couple of very rough stories about family gatherings, and he feels remorseful for having made her attend so many, so early. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Nope, all accurate sadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t reply right away and he wonders if any of it changes how she thinks of him. Wonders if she’ll still want to be associated, well not actually associated but still, with him after she knows all this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s after 10 before she replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   “It’s hard to explain unless you’ve been in a relationship with an asexual cause there are good things but if fucks with your mind, we were together for like 8 plus months and I don’t think Mr. Sad Eyes and I ever really had sex, I mean maybe definitionally sure, but not like what I’m looking for”  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>I don’t understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   People contain multitudes?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Did you tell her you were asexual?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  I don’t know, honestly I might have at some point to end a fight or something, but I assume she’s just saying that cause we didn’t have sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s expecting more questions but they don’t arrive. Just leaves the conversation there, his misery and weirdness just out on display. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels weird on Tuesday morning, takes special care to dress himself like a grown up. He goes into the office in the morning, reviews the speech with Karolina and a man named Jeff who is Greg’s height, something that makes him instantly hateable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They give him a thumbs up, and he has a couple meetings with operations, before his typical shareholder hand job calls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nerves don’t peak until he’s on the way to Columbia, wishes he didn’t practice the speech again last night. He checks his phone but has left his conversation with Gerri open, which is another source of anxiety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers the professor when they’re introduced, can do a little thing about his class and the terrible paper he wrote about supply chain growth with him and the class. The speech isn’t terrible, he starts a little stiff, but eases into it, feels a little bit more comfortable after he pauses and looks out. Sees a sea of kids staring back at him and knows for once he’s probably the only person in the room that knows what it means to do his job, the only one here who can talk with any authority about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he wraps it up they are a little low on time, so the Q&amp;A will be short, a small sigh of relief bursting from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fields one about the diverse portfolio under the Waystar company umbrella, which he didn’t prepare for but finds he knows how to answer after years of being in meetings and conversations with Karl and Frank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the obvious ones come, the ones he’s prepared for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing as COO to prevent further misdeeds like what happened on the Cruises under your predecessors?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers to thank her for her question, discusses the new, formalized changes of command, the companies new harassment and wrongful lawsuit practices, and then spends most of the time on “corporate culture” rehab they’ve been doing, training and “Waystar Star Talks”. He’s watched Stewy say this stuff before, Kendall and his Dad do it, and it always felt bullshit, like a verbal jerk off motion. But he’s there standing in front of this 20 something woman who is genuinely pissed about how women were treated at his company under his fathers helm, and he wants to prove to her that he cares too and he’ll do better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get to the last question and he’s just excited to get out of this room. Starts weighing the odds in his head that he’ll have to hang around after with the professors and any of the kids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mark Swift, With Logan Roy calling into question your legitimacy as a COO and as a Roy, how does that affect your ability to serve his legacy with Waystar?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at the kid and thinks he has the most punchable face of all the kids here. Karolina and he had gone through the paternity stuff, reviewed different ways to discuss it, but none of them feel right for this dweeb’s question. He feels the room’s energy has shifted, more tense than it was before, kids all eager to hear what he has to say even if it’s uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Mark, I’ll tell you what, it’s been a weird year. I was appointed COO by our Board of Directors while Logan was in the hospital, which was terrifying for a number of reasons. My Dad, whom I am very fond of, was in critical condition, and I was just given a job I had no business doing.” There seems to be a little rumble after that, like he’d said a big secret out loud that no one thought they’d ever hear spoken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was, too young, too green, too immature for it. So in part, I think it’s fully legitimate to question my position as COO, especially in those early days, and I certainly had my mis-steps. But, what all of you will find when you get into the workforce is there are people out there who want you to succeed. Mentors and support staff, individuals who are working towards a common cause, and when you listen and work with that around you, not so much the ego or matador shit, you figure your shit out. I learned a lot from my father and the team he built at Waystar, I’ve learned a lot from Stewy and Sandy in their short time in their roles, and I think, and hopefully my board agrees with me, that all of those things are more important than a last name.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath, and considers the question one more time, thinking about how far he wants to go, based on what Karolina and him had agreed on. “And I’ll just say, Waystar Royco, is an infant compared to most of the major media organizations in this country and around the world. We have a lot ahead of us, but we’ve also grown faster than any other media and entertainment organization over the last two decades. My father’s work speaks for itself, his legacy will be his own. But Waystar Royco is not Logan Roy. It’s a company with shareholders and employees, and that’s what I think about every day when I walk in the door. So my father’s opinion means a lot to me personally, but the decisions I make as COO aren’t about him and his continuing legacy. For me it’s about what I can do to increase shareholders earnings and make sure our talent, the amazing people we employ, are the happiest and safest they can be at work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The professor leads the class in a surprising round of applause, and thanks him for his time. He sticks around for less than a half hour, feeling too itchy to shake any more hands or listen to children pitch themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He calls Karolina from the car, gives her a heads up, knows he went a little off script, but she seems okay with the script notes version he regurgitates to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes back into the office, catches up on some stuff he had been putting off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s near close of business and Karolina comes to his door with some speed. He waves her in, hoping he won't have to cancel his evening plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PGM has footage from the thing today,” she says slightly breathless, grabbing the remote from off the table by his couch, changing the channel to PGM. Which is of course on a commercial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that bad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she says, “it sounds like a low level staffer got the comment call and just said we refuse to comment, so we’ll likely be walking that back. Cyd wants a response for ATN, if we need it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s whatever their bullshit markets show is, a dork in glasses is running through an onscreen list of things for “Moore’s List of More”, “Roy on Roy Crime” is fifth on the list. He’s on the second and he wants to shoot himself, listening to this man talk about oil futures for another 2 minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls up his phone to ask Gerri how bad he’s about to feel it, but the texts from last night stare back at him. They hadn’t exchanged plans for tonight yet, but they don’t typically until 8 or 9, so he hadn’t been too scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the man puffs up and starts his lead into the Waystar story, throwing up his family’s drama in a tightly 15 seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Waystar and Roman Roy have been suspiciously quiet regarding the recent paternity claims coming out of the Logan Roy camp. So we were surprised to see a video today from a talk Roman gave at his alma mater, Columbia School of Business. We have the clip here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t play the full question or the being of his answer, just the last part where he speaks directly about Waystar and Logan. Hearing it back, he doesn’t feel too bad about it. They listen for a little bit as the dork over simplifies what he said, referring to them as fighting words, a challenge to anyone who questions his loyalty to the company over his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karolina looks at him when the segment is over, a soft smile on her face. “You made it sound worse than that,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It felt like a drive by when I said it, I’m starting to get why people did their homework and looked at the textbooks before taking the tests. It’s a little easier when you're prepared,” he shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman, that was good, I mean Logan is going to hit us back, I’m sure it won't be a nice couple of days, but the shareholders and staff will like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty sure he’s getting a sticker, “Good job?” He offers her a high five feeling like a complete idiot, but doesn’t know what else he can do that wont be creepy or weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crushed it,” she says with a little laugh and unimpressed look at his hand, reluctantly tapping hers against his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can work on that, but I’ll take it,” he laughs, “I suspect I’ll see you tomorrow, cover whatever backlash we got coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good, have a good night,” she says as she slips out, not waiting for his response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s 8:30 and he still hasn’t heard from Gerri, just wishes she’d tell him early if she’s going to bail. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   We still on? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at the window for a minute, but nothing comes. The salad he had delivered makes him feel sad too, and he’s impressed how fast he can lose a good mood. He picks through it, basically pouting at it until his phone buzzes. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Sorry, things came up, should be out of here in like 10. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He plays a dumb block sorting game on his phone until there’s a knock on his door. He’s into it enough he just shouts, “it’s open,” so she finds him sitting on his couch in his work clothes playing on his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is how I picture you in your office,” she jokes, pulling his attention from his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not inaccurate,” he says, finally putting the phone down. “Drink?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please, strong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long day?” he asks, making his way over to the bar, considers trying to make a martini she’d like, but he doesn’t have any cold gin, so settles for a Manhattan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah someone decided to go be pretty fucking okay at PR today, had to handle a couple different hissy fits about that,” rolling her eyes, but giving him a smile when she accepts her drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How awful,” he feigns support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Made Nan uneasy to think there might be a Roy out there who knows what the fuck they’re doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” he says petulantly, sitting on the coffee table instead of next to her on the couch, one foot resting on the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have to say, I was impressed, didn’t think you’d find a way to give literally everyone the finger all at once, in a little thing to a bunch of kids. Thought you might actually be playing me a little,” there is a light in her eyes that he hasn’t seen since their afternoon at the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aim to please, Karolina might even get me a sticker for doing my homework.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sits back a little, studying him, sipping her drink, “I have this sense of you in my head and just when I think I understand, you do something stupid or brilliant or someone says something, and I’m just flummoxed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, the idea that she’s thrown off because he doesn’t pee his pants in public outings, “Sorry, I’ll be sure to give you a warning before I plan on doing my job well going forward.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head at that, “I don’t mean that, you’re good at that stuff, better than anyone else in your family, I just didn’t expect you to be so deferential. That answer, in full, not just the bit about your dad, it was smart PR, but I couldn’t see the others saying anything like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank wanted to know if he could help. Frank, who I spent 5 years treating like complete dog shit, was worried about me, wanted to let me know he thinks I’ve got it in me to do the job. And I shit on Baird, but he’s a fucking rock, never questioned if I could do it, just provided me everything he did Dad. Karolina, she’s a god-damn rockstar, and we’ve been making her life miserable for years,” he gets a little far away as he says it. He thinks about all the different people who he’s mistreated and dragged through the shit over his years. “God, Jess, Tessa, Michael, all the assistants that crossed that executive floor, fuck if we don’t owe them years of therapy, when they were just there to make our lives easier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s moving and it makes his eyes refocus to her in front of him. She’s taking his glass from his hand and setting it next to hers on the table. A hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep, perfect kiss. She’s going slow, and he tries to follow her lead, but she’s just kissing him, licking into his mouth, soft sighs and nails biting his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes her back a little to get some air, breaking the kiss and pulling her to stand up. He woke up with a crick in his neck and he’s worried shenanigans on the couch will tweak it again, making him look like a broken old man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pause on the way to the bedroom, he gets her out of her suit, rids himself of his pants and shirt. She slides on the bed, bringing a smile to his face as he remembers waking her up here not three days ago with kissing a trail down her body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hovers over her, a hand mapping the goosebumps on her skin, lips attached to hers, no intention of ever leaving. The impatience he typically associates with her is missing tonight, which is welcome but throws him off his game a little. It gives him a chance to really familiarize himself with her breasts, trying to remember the motion she guided his hand through, adding his mouth when he thinks he has it right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he’s trying her patience, a hand coming to scratch along his back, articulating her displeasure. It makes him smile against her nipple. He pulls her arm back, pressing her hand above her head, intertwining their fingers, holding her there as he continues his torture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally come together, she’s louder than normal, says his name like a benediction when she comes, triggering his own release.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s a little light headed from it all when he lays back down next to her, bringing their still connected hands to his mouth, kissing the back of hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are still closed when he takes her in, watches her chest rise and fall while she steadies her breath. He notices two small bruises on her hip, traces them with his forefinger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I do that?” he asks softly, staring at the marks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice seems to break some magic, she looks at where his hand is, studies it. “I hadn’t noticed, but probably,” she closes her eyes again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he offers probably more for his benefit than hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’fine,” she sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls his hand away from her skin, turns to lay on his stomach and waits to see what she does next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good at that” she whispers like she’s sharing a secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very good at that,” he laughs, but a compliment must not be what she’s going for because she sighs a little at his laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one would confuse what we did as the work of an asexual,” she says more clearly, a little too sharp for his taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I never did that with Grace,” he sighs, rolling his shoulders and burying his face harder into his arm once he gets it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she ticks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a good day today,” he breathes out, “and I’m sure there will be a new special kind of hell tomorrow and the next day, and I can handle that. But I don’t think I can handle all of that, and working through 20 years of sexual disfunction with you right after we had fantastic sex.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she says softly, a reservation in her voice he isn’t sure he’s heard before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mean it like that, just,” he reaches an arm out, hand stretching across her ribs, comforting, not sexual. “It works with you and that isn’t true for Grace or a lot of other people, but this is really good. As long as it’s good for you?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives him an approving hum, just lays there for another couple of minutes, before pulling herself out of bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not running away, it’s just late and I have to be in a car bound for Tern Haven for some fresh hell in the morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reluctantly gets up, slips his boxers back on and walks her to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna ask, but fuck, if you have to shank me, just pick somewhere that wont kill me?” he shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widen a little at that, frowning, “It will be okay,” she leans in, surprising him with a kiss, “you can come over on Friday and we can get drunk, say fuck you to this week and your entire family, how do that sound?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect,” he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, stealing a kiss before she turns and leaves. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His good mood lasts about 2 hours. Karolina sent him a couple of hype emails, but his inbox is mostly full of complaining and bullshit. He wishes it could all pause for a couple days so he could catch his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By 2 pm, they get word that Page Six is circling a hit job that includes all the Roy children. It’s been awhile since they’ve had to stand together on something, but of course they can’t get a hold of Kendall to agree on a comment. Roman lets Shiv take the lead on that one. It’s the first time she’s been included in the bad press, he wonders if she did something to piss off Logan recently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He puts a meeting after hours on Stewie, Baird, and Karolina’s calendar. His best guess is that the Kendall news will be announced on Friday, but they’re bound to start making some noise tomorrow, and he doesn’t want anyone to feel unprepared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baird is first into his office, and it makes him a little twitchy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How you holding up?” Baird asks as he takes a seat on the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh I’m fine,” Roman replies. He thinks telling the man that he’s running off the afterglow from fucking his ex-wife last night, but thinks it might kill him. Wonders what Roman of last year would do, if that’s growth or just a sign of his more desperate situation. “Started the countdown clock yet? How many days have you got left in this prison?” he pokes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, I think we’ll start that when I have about 3 months left.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karolina is at his door, always polite, never entering without confirmation. He wonders if that’s an OPSEC thing or if something happened to make her cautious. She chooses the chair by his desk, looking at her phone, but offering him a small smile. He’s never noticed she wears a wedding ring before wonders if she has pictures on her desk of her family. He’s trying to picture her office, considering there’s a chance he’s never actually been in it when Stewy walks in, claps his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well isn’t this a brain trust? What’s up man?” Stewy taps his arm on the way to sit next to Baird. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a couple calls last night,” he starts, not entirely true but hopes it covers it well. Karolina looks up from her phone, clearly now listening, the smile on Stewy’s face falls a little. “The PGM, Kendall stuff is real. I think there is an announcement coming by the end of the week.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Confirmed?” Karolina is the first to break the uncomfortable silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one said it out right, but yeah, I’m sure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do either of you have any contact with him?” Baird asks, looking between Stewy and Roman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman just shakes his head tightly. Stewy’s leg is bouncing at increasing frequency, which is just increasing Roman’s anxiety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Stewy answers slowly, and Roman doesn’t know if he should read that as pained or a lie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know a title or position he’s taking?” Karolina asks, blinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C-Level.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Molly had brunch with Gerri this weekend, I can ask her if there was any news.” Baird offers, and all Roman can think about is Gerri leaving his apartment to have brunch with her daughter. Sunday, it was probably Sunday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s going to be COO, Jack might be on the outs.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fisher? Jesus, he’s great, they’re replacing Jack Fisher with Kendall?” Baird shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hard to see that going well for them,” Stewy sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll have to have a statement prepared,” Karolina leads them back to the immediate concerns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we run it on vaulter?” Stewy asks, the acid starting to really creep into his voice, his posture getting looser. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes Roman laugh, but he tries to catch himself, “Something on the right side of professional maybe? It’s just a press release when asked for comment, so either we say we don’t comment on ex-employees new employment or something congratulatory?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a line to walk, we’ll work with Baird and HR to make sure it’s appropriate, but do you want to be convivial? Is that the message?” Karolina probes carefully, eyeing him with some trepidation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wish him all the best in his new role? That kind of thing? Sure.” Roman says, rubbing his hands into his eyes, “Well, that’s I guess the fun for the rest of the week. Just stay in touch if anyone hears anything different?” he suggests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thanks them, Stewy sulking and Karolina admirably carrying herself like the world isn’t on her shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stewy would be poor to do it, but someone should probably give Gerri a call.” Baird says, loitering after everyone else leaves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And say what? Thanks for taking on my dipshit brother? Hope you don’t mind wiping coke off coffee tables and Lion King sing-alongs?” Roman sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a gamesman, never started a fight unless she knew exactly how to win it.” he says in a wistful way that makes Roman’s stomach twist. “ She’s not going to trust you, she’s wary by nature. I’m not saying sabotage the boy, but if you have anything that would help manage him, anything that worked here or didn’t work, the gesture would be good. If this falls apart, it’s better if Kendall’s the problem not Kendall and everything Kendall has ever touched.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t think Stewy could successfully sweet talk your ex-wife?” Roman jokes, hoping to get out of this without throwing up or confessing something weird. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think Stewy feels betrayed and so I wouldn’t trust him to make any calls regarding Kendall right now,” Baird starts, “I thought you always got along with Gerri? Seemed that way when we were at Tern Haven.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels hot, hopes his breath doesn’t get caught in his throat. It’s one thing to play games in his mind, fucking with Baird, it’s another thing to have him push on it. The idea of fucking this up suddenly feels so heavy he doesn’t know if he can carry it. He can picture the look she’d give him, betrayal and hate, just the thought </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to shit talk my brother to his boss. I mean yes, I would have loved that when Kendall worked here, but Baird come on, I’m not gonna do that. She thinks I’m a fucking idiot anyway, it’d be a laugh for her, probably record the conversation and play it for everyone at their annual sapphic, kaftan, commie retreat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably true,” he sighs, “Maybe Shiv? Just think about it. Probably best to wait after the announcement either way.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He waits until he’s in bed to bother her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   How’s Turd Heaven?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   You come up with that one on your own or get some help from your fellow third graders?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   All myself</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>R:</b>
  
  <span> 😜</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Ribbon please?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   It’s a shit show here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   More Shakespeare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   If only. Lots of different voices to be managed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Baird suggested I call you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Huh?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Sign of good faith, let you know what you’re in for with K</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   I think I’m well aware, but the concern is thoughtful</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   He pissed his pants in 11th grade in front of Georgiana Bloomberg drunk at some equestrian event, he doesn’t like to talk about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Of course he did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   He says favorite movie is The Godfather but it’s Top Gun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   I'm sure that will come up the first day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   He likes brown suits, they look fucking awful, but he loves them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   You okay?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses at that, not wanting to think about.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  What’s your favorite movie?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:   </b>
  <span>I don’t have one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   You don’t have a favorite movie? You’re impossible. What is a movie you really like?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   I like A Few Good Men. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Such a fucking lawyer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Sorry were you hoping for Pretty Woman or something?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Harold and Maude? The Graduate maybe?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Fuck you</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   I like Transformer movies</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Liar, I’ve been to your home, I’ve seen your Criterion Collection. You constantly have Ken Burns on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Whatever.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   What are you doing?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   No.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   No? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   No. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   No fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Good night Roman</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Nighty night!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stewy is in a real fucking bad mood, and he suspects it will continue the rest of the week. He’s used to being the grumpy one in the office, not sure how sustainable this new dynamic will be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karolina passes along a couple of headlines, all of them aren’t too bad, the Grace stuff seems to be getting traction, which he wouldn’t care about except he thinks Gerri might actually be seeking that stuff out now. He asks Karolina to set up a meeting with his own PR team, just to make sure everyone is on the same page. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a disaster of a meeting with Parks that has him feeling like it might be time to clean house. Cyd stops by and they review a bunch of things he’s been avoiding for the last month with ACN. Stewy has taken the network on as his pet project, making it a little less hostile, getting a couple more moderate voices on. He keeps fighting with Cyd about the general “aesthetic” of the network and Roman isn’t ever sure if he’s meaning the people or the graphics, but he’s done his best to stay out of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>HR let him know they’ve found a spot for Greg, which is a relief in some small way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>PGM schedules a press conference for 1 pm Friday, so he knows tomorrow will be fun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves the office by 8, skipping the gym, because he’d rather get heart disease and die than carry anymore weight around today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s got a bowl of something that must be healthy because it tastes like shit, grabbing his phone to start up his favorite game and booting up the XBox to play his second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   A press conference? Exciting!</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Are you speaking, I want to know if I should get the close loop feed and record it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t bite, so he waits her out. Figures they’re probably working late anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two hours of killing Zombie Nazi’s later, he’s reasonably mind wiped. She still hasn’t replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He showers, stares at his beard in the mirror. He trims and oils it, feeling weird about the faint greys that speckle it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s 11 when he actually gets in bed. She still hasn’t replied and he wonders if he’s gone too far, maybe she’s not looking to hear his dumb jokes 24/7. He considers trying to text Grace, see what was up with her shit, but doesn’t want to risk the backlash if she still hates him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Karolina danced around for 20 minutes today trying to find an okay way to ask if I was gay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G</b>
  <span>:   Bet you made it excruciating for her. More Grace stuff?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He threw it out there hoping it’d be juicy enough to grab per attention but is kind of pissed it worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R</b>
  <span>:   No probably a Dad thing. We decided on no comment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long pause, he wonders if they're still working, but he doubts it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes a little, pouting. He’s drifting off when his phone starts to ring in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he sighs into it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry were you asleep?” Gerri asks, apologetically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“S’okay,” he tries to blink the sleep away, more interested in why she’d call than sleep. “What’s up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been a long fucking day,” she says, and he thinks she sounds weird. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?,” he laughs, “You want to tell me about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” she sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he smirks, waking up a little more, “that kind of call.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a call, not any kind of special call,” she huffs, maybe a little embarrassed. He can picture her, red cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Under your employers roof? Gerri, I didn’t think you were that kind of girl. Can’t wait til tomorrow night?” he teases. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” she sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You pack yourself a little friend?” he asks, knows she can hear his smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs a little, and he feels safe again. “No, I did not bring a vibrator to Nan Pierce’s house.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pity.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves around a little, reaching over to his bedside to grab headphones so he can be hands free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Things okay with Stewy?” she asks, filling the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The swerve in conversation knocks him back a little, doesn’t know what track in his mind to follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s pouting but it’s whatever, I think he’s fine,” he provides thinking it’d be rude to just go back and talk about sex toys if she’s guided them back here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That makes sense.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gerri?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums in response, which to him is a bad sign. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did someone just walk in the room or? I’m a little lost.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” she sounds frustrated, which is frustrating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he thinks it’s probably too short. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a weird silence that he doesn't know what to do with. Part of him just wants to hang up and smother himself with his pillow. The other part thinks he could save this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a breath, tries to sound steady, comfortable, “When you’re alone and you touch yourself, do you lay on your stomach or back?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her breath hitches, catching somewhere in her throat, the sound makes him lean back, press his head into the pillow. She doesn’t respond immediately which surprises him. He remembers her egging him on last time they did this. Uncertainty creeps in, he’s tempted to just hang up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I,” he starts but loses the courage immediately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It depends,” she says softly, it’s what he’d consider her bedroom voice, but with a lot more clarity and control than he’s used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The relief of her voice makes him exhale, air rushing from his lungs. “On?” he’s not sure why he whispers it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another infinite pause and he wonders if he should just call this off, he’s pushed too far and clearly dragging her through this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s easier if I’m using something to be on my back,” she’s quiet, breathy, like she’s a step ahead of him but ready to hang up at any second, “but if I’m just making do, my stomach I guess.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he draws it out, picturing her, feeling excitement race through him, but trying to remain calm. “I’ve thought about you like that,” he starts, not sure when he became okay sharing fantasies with her, or anyone. “Pictured a couple of things, really,” he closes his eyes, tries to listen for her breathing, but is too distracted by his own. “Felt wrong to ask if I could watch, but that morning, you were so in control, clearly you can make yourself feel so much better than my fumbling hands ever could.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moan slips through and his voice gets a little louder out of desperation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I want to try, I want to try so bad, Gerri.” He listens, tries to block out everything but the sounds in the headphones, he soft sighs. “Would you let me watch?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, “You’d make yourself come, all fucking perfect, efficent and luxurious. God you’re perfect. I’d be so fucking hard. Gerri. Just begging for you to let me touch you. Slip over you, fuck.”  He has to catch his breath, hears she’s in a similar state. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your ass is fantastic, pressed up against my hips, fuck, Gerri. Would you like that? Me behind you, begging to let me fuck you? You’d be so wet, ready for it. Please,” he begs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moans, not as loud as the other night, probably good considering her circumstances, but he doesn’t want to continue until she speaks “Please,” he repeats, more desperate than before.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she breaths, full of tension. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t last, it’d be fucking pathetic. You’re heaven, have I told you that? It’s a fucking dream to be inside you. Tight, hot, god, you’re perfect. I can’t even imagine, pressed against your back, Gerri, I need you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s too close for words, thinks she’s the same way but isn’t sure, too busy whining, “fuck,” to tell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s just breathing for a while, unsteady slowly converging to calm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he breaths out, not entirely sure why. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, my brain’s a little fuzzy. Sort of did my own thing there, I don’t know, that was okay right?” he’s suddenly worried he’s mucked it up.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” She sounds genuinely confused and he doesn’t know what to do. He absolutely does not want to keep talking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” hoping he can get out of this somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The running away thing, does that apply to phone calls as well?” she asks like she’s just curious, not like she’s accusing him of something and he hates her for that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess that depends on your definition of sex,” he hedges. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t seem to be getting better at this,” she muses, but it doesn’t sound like she’s upset or frustrated, just mused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Orgasmically existing you mean?” he quibs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Figuring out each other's wants and needs, but sure, that too I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It shouldn’t feel like a hit, but it cuts right through him. The familiar sense of failure or at least shame, boiling up from deep within. Closing his eyes tight, he tries to will it away but fails at that too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says a little too defensively he’s sure but feels pointy in this moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean it,” she sighs, “Rome, I’m not trying to be a bitch, I was trying to be sympathetic.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to push back, bite at her non-apology, but fights the instinct. “Okay,” he says softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I keep saying the wrong thing,” she admits, “Before, after, I’m in a different space than you, and I don’t really know how to solve that other than not saying anything. But you don’t want that either.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s perfectly reasonable and smart, like an adult who knows a thing or two about relationships and communication and he wants so badly for his reaction to be anything other than the childishness he feels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just ask for what you want,” he tries, but doesn’t have any conviction behind it so it sounds more like a question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want that now, if it’s sex or fun, but when I want to know anything about the Grace stuff, or how you’re feeling, or the stuff with your dad, why you’d text me come over. You evade all the time or get actually mad, so I don’t think you want me to ask what I want to ask.” She’s clearly held this for a little while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, I’m a hypocrite, you win,” he says petulantly, considering just hanging up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” her tone icy and sharp. He’s helpless to obey. “It’s been fun, I think we’ve both enjoyed ourselves, but clearly we haven’t solved the difficulties we both have with this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dread. It’s all he feels, knowing what’s coming next. Fucking dread. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think this works if it’s just sex followed by arguements.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes his eyes shut, “I want to use my favor. Just forget the last 5 minutes okay.” he knows he sounds so weak, wonders if this goes on any longer if he will cry. “I want this to work,” he feels unsteady, wishing he could see her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do too,” she says softly and hope seeps back into his bones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow night, you get me drunk, I’ll answer any of your questions, and we try this conversation again?” he offers, hoping to get back on track. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I can agree to that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a breath and then says what he’s been thinking for a while but hasn’t had the courage to say, “You’re the best part of my day. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything or whatever, just, the incentive isn’t just the sex, it’s your voice and making you laugh and all the other bullshit too. I just, I’m willing to do whatever to make this work for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It should work for you too Roman,” she explains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs, “No, you don’t get it, you work for me, it works for me, even if sometimes I get mad cause I don’t want to talk about my shitty family or whatever. It’s not like I don’t like talking to you, I really like talking to you, it’s just that stuff sucks, it sucks up all my energy and is the shitty part of my life, and so I don’t want it to spread.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You bring the booze,” she offers, sounding tired now, maybe worried, he’s not sure. But doesn’t sound like she’s going to break it off anymore and that’s enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s shaky the whole morning. Feeling like he’s coming down from something but never got the pleasure of the high. Everyone is pretty weird all day, and that makes it worse. Stewy has a conference room for them to check footage of the presser, from their ACN reporters feed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not hungry at lunch, didn’t really eat breakfast either, just poured coffee down his throat. He feels weird, pulls out his phone, thinks why not spread the weird around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Have fun!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits next to Karolina, tries to be farther away from Stewy so he is less likely to absorb his bad energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a lot of bullshit lead up, he can see Gerri off to the side, fiddling on and off with her watch. Her hair is up, he can’t help the little smile that grows thinking about pulling out the clip that’s holding it up. Eventually they announce it, Ken stepping in. He looks good. Clean shaven, fresh haircut, ugly brown suit, he looks like he’s put on a little weight which Roman thinks is good, means he’s probably sober. His speech is clearer, less stunted then he remembers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the best he’s looked in a really long time. Part of him feels like a dick for having wished him so much ill when he heard the news. Maybe he can just be happy his brother is okay, that they both escaped their father, and are employed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stewy leaves without saying anything. Karolina and him talk for a little bit about if they’ll need to prepare anything else, before she gets back to her office where calls are probably stacking up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t last in the office past three. Still feels weird and everything is slow anyway. He makes it to the gym, tries to exhaust himself, but he just feels like shit, gets a side-stitch when he tries to run, arms shaky almost immediately when he benches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By 5, he’s legitimately concerned he’s going insane. He puts on an audiobook and lays on his couch taking weird slow breaths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s 7 when he gets the first sign of life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Sooo much fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:   </b>
  <span>Headed back?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> Probably 30 minutes out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:  </b>
  <span> Have you eaten?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know why he asks it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:  </b>
  <span> No, thought about picking something up on the way into the city. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Makes sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G: </b>
  <span>  Did you want to get food?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Depends how fast you want me to get drunk (haven’t eaten anything today)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   It’s astonishing you’re still alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   Medical miracle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>G:</b>
  <span>   Do you want to pick something up and bring it over?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>R: </b>
  <span>  Sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sends him her address, and he’s impressed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He paces for about 15 minutes, washes his face, moisturizes his beard. Figures it’s okay to look casual, since she can change at her place. It crosses his mind, he could pack a bag, but thinks it’s too presumptuous. The thought of sleeping in Gerri’s bed, surrounded by her scent is a lot to process, doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the way out he grabs a bottle of Du Nord Fitzgerald Gin he keeps in the freezer and Japanese Whiskey he picked up after he helped some people out of their thumbs. He picks pizza because he figures if they’re going to be monsters tonight, why not go all out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her doorman seems unimpressed, lets him in nonetheless. Hands full, he taps his skull into her door to knock. She gives him a smile when she opens the door, laughs a little when she sees the pizza, but she doesn’t kick him out so he marks it down as a win. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you?” he asks on his way in. There are shoes by the door and he notices she’s barefoot so he takes off his shoes. She grabs the pizza from him, and he just follows her through a hall and another room until they’re in front of a couch. There’s two glasses on the table and he likes that she’s prepared for this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes the opportunity to look around, it’s cleaner than he imagined for having been under construction. Leather couch and chair, deep colored walls, dark woods, novel but not flamboyant art on the walls. She’s classier than him, the room feels smart in a way he finds intimating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has Prohibition playing on the television and her sense of irony is the gift that keeps giving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So they finished all the work?” he asks, looking for something to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wednesday, cleaning service got it put back together yesterday,” she says off handedly, heading to the small bar cart in the corner, grabbing a couple things and bringing them over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She makes herself a martini, lets him figure his own shit out, gives herself an approving hum when she tastes her handiwork. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs the pizza for something to do other than stare at her, wishes a little he’d brought beer too, but settles for stealing a sip of her martini before making himself a whiskey soda. He curls up his legs on the sofa, resting his glass on his knee, turning his whole body to face her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said I could ask anything,” she says, clearly finished with food, just holding her glass to her lips, cheeks a little pink already. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me everything you’ve got,” he says, stuffing his face with another slice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your favorite Transformer?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, a genuine surprise. “I don’t have a fucking clue,” he admits. “I think I saw the Megan Fox one, but fuck if I know what the robot’s names were.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s smiling too and the weirdness he’s been feeling all day finally settles, like a stereo turned from 10 to 2. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I ask one?” he asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two way street,” she puts a hand on his knee.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you actually think when I texted you, drunk?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks a little confused, “I thought you were drunk,” she laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s all?” he pushes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she says, wetting her lips, “it was a little exciting, but I also figured you were an idiot and I was just the last woman you saw so your brain did a weird connection thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just smiles and nods, and he can tell she hates that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Mr. Sad Eyes stuff,” she starts, “I got a little over zealous, found a compilation of her clips, trying to make sense of it, I just couldn’t let it go, it’s just so different from the you I know,” she clears her throat softly, “this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “I was in a very different headspace,” he admits, but still feels bad talking about it, “I have hang ups, for a long time I didn’t even like being touched, trust issues, fear of intimacy, trama, stuff like that, but with you, I can’t really explain it. I trust you, I like what we do, I feel shitty that I have to explain that, but I do, and I find you excruciatingly hot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blushes at that, and he’s happy to press it further. “I can accept that.” She’s pouring herself another drink and he willingly follows suit. He gets her to admit the best gift she’s ever received, first thing she ever stole, celebrity crushes, favorite sexual position, before she shuts him up, drags him to a bedroom he has to assume is hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s sloppy and fun, exchanging insults and laughs, he can’t really remember feeling so unburdened. She makes him drink a glass of water after, thrilled she’s not kicking him out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wakes up to any empty bed, feeling like he just spent 4 years in space before rocketing into the earth’s crust. He manages to make it out of bed and into pants, shuffling down the hall until he finds Gerri in the kitchen. Her hair is up, dressed in a robe, bloody mary in hand. She gives him a grimace when she notices him and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning,” he offers, trying to smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he doesn’t try the smiling thing again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hands him a piece of toast and he’s grateful for it but also he thinks he might die. He takes it anyway, watches her head back to the fridge. While she’s distracted he grabs her drink, taking a sip while remembering what a bloody mary tastes like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blugh guh,” he grouses, after he swallows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well why did you do that then?” she asks like he’s a fucking idiot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I forgot it takes like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look she gives him is almost absurd, “Like tomato juice?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t like it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just rolls her eyes, watches him as he spends eternity chewing one bite of toast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” he says when he finishes, “some might characterize last night as a date.” He doesn’t look up, just pays very close attention to the browned bread. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would they?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dinner, drinks, sex, sleep, brunch,” he waves the toast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums and he doesn’t know if it’s in agreement or annoyance. “I don’t usually put out on the first date.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was, myself, surprised, didn’t take you for that kind of girl,” he jokes, taking a couple steps closer to her. “So we’re in agreement, a date?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just nods, kissing his cheek, before turning back to her drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Friday is the only day of the week he likes now. Friday, and sometimes Tuesday or Wednesday, Monday if one of them is on travel, but absolutely Friday. They both seem to prefer her place, but she’ll sometimes still show her face at his, subtly expressing her dislike of his furniture, art, and textiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she refuses to stay the night if she has to get to the office the next morning, so if they do meet up on a weeknight, it’s always her place. He delicately attempted to suggest she could just keep things at his place in case or have something delivered, but she pretended not to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s surprisingly easy how they fit into each other's lives with so much of it, the players, dynamics, history all well worn territory. There’s a natural shorthand, an understanding of a shared world, even the annoyances are a little lighter. They’ve gotten pretty good at dancing around the complicated things. And the things in between, that depend entirely on their moods. He called himself “her dirty little secret” last week and she sniped at him for the next 20 minutes. He’s just as bad, picked fights all night after she called what they were doing “an arrangement” at dinner.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the good parts are good. They both refer to Friday as date night, a sign they know it’s more than whatever else they say. Saturday mornings she makes them coffee and he reads her awful or funny tweets he’s faved for her. She calls him Rome when she’s sleepy, and he on rare occasions, gets to call her Ger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve been doing whatever it is for two and half months and they haven’t gone a day without talking in some form. He finds it cute that she clearly prefers to talk on the phone then text, will sometimes just call him after he’s sent a few messages in a row because she just doesn’t want to have to read them. But he likes it, that she’ll talk to him until he falls asleep some night, or while she’s in the bath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t like it that Kendall sees her more than him. They don’t skirt around work, but Gerri doesn’t talk much about Ken, doesn’t bring him up, or tell mocking stories. It makes him wonder if they just don’t overlap that much or if she is purposefully siloing her life, he would understand if she was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a painful sense he has, that this is untenable. That they’re playing a game that can’t be won and the longer they keep playing the harder it will be when they eventually lose. He thinks of it especially on the nights they don’t have sex, a more regular occurrence as of late. Those nights they seek each other out for restoration, days spent being drained from everyone else in their lives. He knows she senses it too, testy in the same way he is about the hard stuff, secret in obvious, painful ways.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in his office, much too early to be mediating this argument between Stewy and Cyd, when Shiv calls twice in a row. Some part of him thinks it could be an emergency, but she hasn’t texted so he isn’t certain. His curiosity is held at bay until he gets Stewy to head back to his own office and gives Cyd a commiseratory eye roll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How may I help you, Princess?” he mocks when she picks up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been summoned,” she announces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Summoned?” he asks, not in the mood for his Dad’s royal bullshit today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kendall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kendall is summoning us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wanted to know if we could meet in his office for lunch,” she clarifies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His office huh, this fucking guy,” he’s mad, genuinely fucking furious. “How about fuck off, he can come to my office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to offer him that or you’re expecting me to be the little go between? Because fuck that. Can you just be free for lunch?” she sounds tired of this already, and he can’t blame her. She’s been in the middle of everything for more than 6 months, the only one Logan is talking to, him, Ken, probably Connor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t spoken to him since,” he has to think, “whenever after his press conference I guess, maybe the shareholder vote.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So whatever, don’t talk, but I’m not going alone, so pony up loser.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he concedes, doesn’t know why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, I’ll tell him we’ll come by PGM at noon,” she sounds as enthusiastic as he feels and that is some reassurance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hangs up and stares at his phone, wondering what’s his best move. She’d want to know. He knows she’ll want to know if he’s in her building. Something stops him, trying to rationalize it in his mind, maybe he won't see her, maybe it’d be a good surprise, maybe she won't care. Maybe he’s trying to screw this up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiv is on another level today. It takes the slightest jab and she actually punches his shoulder with her full force. It’s nice that they can all be having breakdowns together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An assistant meets them in the lobby and he actually could kill Kendall. This theatre kid who was too afraid to audition, never learned when or how to use dramatics properly. The offices are nice, similar to Waystar, as most are in the city at this point, the staff in the various bullpens they pass through are marginally more diverse, but just marginally. He tries to look around and seem incurious, but every nerve in his body is incredibly aware he’s on a countdown clock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ken’s office is boring, pictures of his kids and Naomi behind his desk, books Roman knows he’s never read on the shelf. His assistant announces he's just stepped out, because of course he has, leaving them alone in his office, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a loser,” Shiv says under her breath, making him laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’s going to hit us with every terrible negotiating technique at once, like he’s going to come in here and shake our hands so hard he breaks bones? Only speak in a whisper? Slightly stare us into a murder suicide situation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I hope so, money on he says our names 10 times in the first 5 minutes. Hello Siobhan, I think so to Siobhan, don’t you think Roman, I agree Roman,” she mocks in a terrible Kendall impression.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No bet, Siobhan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s facing the windows, taking in the view and trying to manage the rage that’s boiling inside him, when he hears the door open. He doesn’t want to give the fucker the pleasure of turning at attention for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Siobhan. I hadn’t realized you were coming in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tenses, stops breathing in the middle of an exhale, the child’s mind he still possesses somehow thinking if he remains completely still she might not notice him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman and I were summoned,” she says, a sickeningly sweet tone that betrays her annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes, knows her eyes must now be on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman,” she says, and it’s so different from how she says it at home, he feels it pierces his skin, sinking into his heart. “What a surprise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns, fights to put on a smile, “I was surprised as much as you are they let me in the building. Like the devil in a church.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” Her eyes have narrowed, reminiscent of the time she stormed into his kitchen but wouldn’t speak, but she’s playing with her nails, seemingly more annoyed than angry. He wonders if that will come later, wonders if he was courting one more than the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure as always, Gerri. You’ve got great digs,” he tries to sound confident in the words, winks just to be a complete asshole, digging the hole a little deeper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t respond, stops looking at him all together and he feels cold, like the sun has just gone out. She’s saying something to Shiv, all fake smiles and speaking with that happy other people tone that never used to bother him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s still chatting with Shiv when Kendall shows up, and it brings him a little sadistic pleasure how Gerri’s presence takes the wind out of Kendall’s sails. He basically tiptoes around her into his office, claps his hands together to maybe show he’s still the point of interest here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi guys, thanks for coming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s unimpressive, even considering his low expectations, but Kendall looks okay. His eyes clear, alert, face and hair clean in a way he sometimes couldn’t manage before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roman just offers a nod, puts his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting. Shiv says something bitchy, and they go back and forth for a minute, but he can’t really follow it, eyes drifting back to Gerri still standing by the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that right?” he hears, before a shove to his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve really embraced your new, disinherited lifestyle,” Shiv says. And he has no fucking clue what she’s talking about. His face must display his confusion because she adds, “you’re basically a hermit now. No one has seen you in months, it’s basically impossible to get you out of the house.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes him laugh, unexpectedly hard. He tries to tamper it but finds himself still laughing through his response, “Well you know, when every time you leave the house 4 to 5 people ask you if you’re a literal bastard, some reclusiveness is necessary.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendall’s face drops a little, “I’m sorry bro.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It irks him, the bro of it, like their still brother after everything. A brother would reply to a text, a phone call, wouldn’t go to a competing company without telling you, having you have to hear it though your fuck buddies old business associate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, Mom says I’m her favorite so,” he shrugs, he looks over at Gerri, naturally wanting to see if she’s smiled, but she’s disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They go to a high end Japanese place down the street, Kendall’s choice. And it’s not terrible. They don’t really talk about any of the things they should, but it’s a start. Ken tells them about Naomi, their wedding plans, plays it like their invitations are in the mail. It makes him wonder a little if that what his peace treaty is about, a society wedding plays less grand if his side is empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes back to the office after. He should feel better, lighter, but the dreads there, pushing him to do more, make it all worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R:</b>
  <span>   You looked really pretty today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he breaths out after he sends it, drives his fingers into his eyes until it hurts, then pulls himself together for a meeting with Entertainment Production. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He texts her twice more throughout the day, because he wants to make sure the hole is deep enough to double as his grave. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks on her door, knowing he’s really trying his luck showing up in her space uninvited twice in one day. There’s a strong possibility she just doesn’t answer. It’s the first time he’s ever understood those sappy movies where the guy sits in the hallway all night just for an opportunity to talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After 2 minutes he knocks again, a little softer, and she eventually opens the door. Her hair is down, wavy, settling on her shoulders. She’s still dressed in her work clothes sans blazer, arms on display. He starts to smile, but her facial expression corrects him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, tries his best grown up voice, “I’m sorry. Can we talk about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apology seems to surprise her, and she lets him in. They just stand in the entryway, a weird feeling, considering how well he knows her apartment, how much time they’ve spent here. She’s staring at him expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have given you a heads up,” he starts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he stares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why you would feel it’s okay to just show up,” she doesn’t sound mad, he can’t really place it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t. It felt bad, but I did it anyway. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes, pulls her arms tighter around herself. “Stop apologizing,” she huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it, that was Kendall’s attempt at a peace offering,” she says, her jaw still tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, poor theatrics and lunch, I think you actually stepped on his grand entrance,” he smiles softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got that sense.” She’s reserved, like she’s still upset, but can’t help but get whatever pieces of gossip she can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to hear about it?” he asks, dipping his head a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just receives a sigh as a response, before she waves him in, pointing him down the hall before heading to the bedroom alone. When she returns, dressed in pajamas, looking exhausted, he’s on the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He spent 20 minutes talking about how in love with Naomi he is, that was painful,” he starts, trying to gauge how much trouble he’s in based on where she sits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just hums, sitting at the other end of the couch, but faces him, resting her head on her arm on the back of the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forget most days that you probably see him all the time,” he tries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t talk about him,” he pushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figured you wouldn’t really want to hear all that, plus, it’s better to keep it separate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, focusing on his breathing to gain the confidence he needs for what he says next, “Would it be bad, if it wasn’t separate?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her tongue peaks out to wet her lips, before they’re pulled tight. “You were trying to force the topic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Subconsciously maybe,” he feels small under her gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Subconsciously,” she mocks a little and it bristles him. “There are larger conversations that have to take place before that one,” she explains as if there is a map for this that she’s memorized, “and we’re very much not there yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” as if he’s been scolded, “I guess just let me know when it’s time for those?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman, I’m not trying to say,” she starts but seemingly gets so annoyed with his expression that she changes course, “You said ask for what I want right? I want you to tell me before you come to my office, because if fucks with my whole day seeing you there, terrified about what you’ll do, what I’ll do. I want you to just bring up whatever is bothering you not acting out like a child. It’s a two way street, if you need something, want something, use your words.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bristles at that, “I’m not a child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then prove it. Put on your big boy pants and don’t do something shitty to have the conversation you clearly want to have,” she says, her voice clearly rising proportionally to her frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want this to be an arrangement,” he says softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want it to be then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels like she’s impatient, sitting back, sliding her arms off the back of the couch and wrapping them around herself, frowning. It makes him a little petulant, snipping, “What do you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him and it’s ridiculous that he thought he could take her on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath and tries another tactic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We agreed, we wanted to make this work,” he starts but doesn't really have anything to follow that up with that doesn’t show his cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s blinking at him now and he knows it’s one of her mind trick moves and he hates that it makes him smile, the small ways he knows how her brain works. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he says it so quietly she might not have been able to hear it, but based on the mild disgust registering on her face he suspects she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the noun I’d prefer,” she replies with such a crispness he’s such he’s been snapped in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you prefer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure if the question catches her off guard or if she genuinely has no idea but her shrugged response makes him queasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you object to the concept or just the term?” he tries, wishing she’d be less fucking cagey about this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both maybe, I’m a sixty year old woman Roman,” she says suddenly sounding exhausted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he runs his hands down the tops of his thighs, tries to find a way out of this before it all explodes in his face, “that’s fine, I didn’t mean to push, I was just curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like what we have,” she sighs, “I just think the boundaries regarding the real world need to be clearer, so there are less surprises.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not willing to push it, just nods and smiles, ends up declaring he’s pretty tired a couple minutes later. She looks a little confused, but he’s not particularly hung up on it, kisses her cheek and walks himself out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was younger, he had a voice in his head that would tell him he was stupid. Any time he screwed up, it’d just poke and poke and poke until he felt like total shit. It faded as he aged, aided by drugs and booze, but it would come back, in intimate moments, like when he tried to have sex for the first time and then every time after that for nearly two decades, or painful moments like when his father would berate or mock him in front of his siblings, and in quiet moments when he was trying to go to sleep or get out of bed in the morning. He was ready for it as he closed her front door, ready to spend the night sitting in his shower thinking about everything he’s done wrong, how stupid he is for ruining this nice thing he has. The only nice thing he has. Except it doesn’t come. There’s a smaller, weaker voice instead, saying he shouldn’t do this to himself. He maybe doesn’t deserve to feel this queasy and desperate. He maybe deserves more.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first few days are easier than he’d expected. He was typically the one to message her first, little jokes or digs throughout the day, so it feels okay to just refrain. By Thursday night he feels a little weird. Radio silence is one thing, they’ve done that before, but they don’t cancel Friday nights. Not without a good excuse at least. It crosses his mind, lying, saying something came up, plenty of bullshit with his family to use. Wonders if it would hurt her a little if he blames Kendall and then finds out later it wasn’t real. He doesn’t like that he’s thinking that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cowardly, but he settles on just disappearing. He walks through Friday weighed down by the inevitability of her text. Pretty quickly he realizes he’s not going to be able to handle sticking around for the early days of this strategy, books himself a week in St Barts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s desperate, but he asks Shiv if she wants to come. Not feeling great about hiding from a woman who wouldn’t agree to be his girlfriend, laying by a pool that opens up to the ocean, alone. She surprisingly agrees, even after he clarifies Tom isn’t invited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They book a charter for the morning and he scams his way into staying at their apartment instead of his own. He thought it would be helpful to not be alone, less likely to have a change of heart. But it’s actually worse. He never really thought much about Shiv and Tom’s relationship. Always thought of them as some sort of marriage of convenience. Sniping at each other at parties, her taking shots at him alongside everyone else, he never really saw the love there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s never been stuck in their kitchen, his bags by the door, watching Tom prepare salad, listening to his sister describe her boring day. Actually listening, asking questions, making jokes, teasing her, seeing Shiv smile at weird lame inside jokes they must share. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had that or at least the start of that. Maybe it’d be okay to not have to share it with anyone else. Clearly these two don’t have the same relationship in public as they do in private. Maybe it could work, that he and Gerri could have something close to friendship with the benefit of really hot sex thrown in. Maybe he doesn’t need all the rest of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it still fucking hurts, to be limited, blanket rejection of anything more, when the fucking ancient, boring Goldman guy gets to be seen with her, he can’t even fathom holding her fucking hand. Tom and Shiv fight all the time, but at least when his dad has a stroke Shiv has someone to hold her in the hospital, laugh with on family mission trips and Hamptons weekends. He’d get what, his phone? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t text. She didn’t call. She didn’t try and reach out. Just let the night pass without a word. They fly out in the morning and if it weren’t for work, he’d seriously consider chucking his phone into the ocean. He considers the possibility that she’s actually the one that’s ignoring him. It’s a bothersome thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They land and get settled in, Shiv immediately disappearing. He covers himself in expensive sunscreen that a ginger ex-girlfriend set him up with a million years ago, then lays himself down on a lounger for the afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiv finds him for dinner, where he has a genuinely fun time making jokes together about the other patrons. It’s fun, how cruel and cutting she can be, when it’s not pointed at him. They end up back in his room, a bottle of rum, because when in Rome, and get pretty toasted. It’s wash, rinse, repeat for the next 3 days, except Shiv is able to score weed from the barback, so they switch from booze after two pretty rough hangovers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re absolutely sick of each other by the time they head back, but it feels more like friendship then it did when they were kids. He’s dropped at his door, freshly tanned, being cut through by the cold fall air, happy for the warm lobby of his building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Roy,” the doorman calls as he shuffles through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to the man, he has nodded at every day for the last 3 years, but said less than a handful of words, “What’s up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “This was left for you while you were out,” he says, hand outstretched with an envelope. At the words his first instinct is it’s another one of his dad’s shitty plays, but he’s holding a small blue envelope, neat script reading, “Roman” on the top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand shakes slightly as he accepts it, understanding there’s no turning back. Gerri had been here and she brought a fucking letter to leave for him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t open it. Doesn’t know what he’ll want to do if he does. He leaves it on his bedside table, unpacks his bags, orders dinner, thinks about the week ahead of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to slip back into life he had before the arrangement. Days in and out of the office, regular gym attendance, video games, ignoring whatever bullshit his father is trying to sling at him. He gets drinks with Cyd, listens to her complain about Stewy, gets plenty of unsolicited life advice he will not take. Drinks with Cyd, leading to other drinks and dinners, people around the office warming up to him. His life is a little more whole than before.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendall invites them to Thanksgiving and it takes him less than a minute to text Shiv begging they’ll both decline. Shiv is going to Logan’s, an event Roman wasn’t invited to. He plays it off, offering both excuses, claiming to be celebrating the success of the British Empire with Caroline instead. He hadn’t thought about holidays when the family started tearing itself apart. It seems obvious now that he was always going to be left alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His bags are packed. He hates Baird a little for having planned his retirement party for the day he’s leaving for England. It’s a boring brownstone, a bland house for a bland man, he thinks. Karolina told him she’d be bringing her wife, and it’s basically the only reason he’s come. That and the man has worked for Waystar for an eternity and it would be an insult if he didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts looking for allies the second he’s in the door. Noticing Baird and Ellen holding court in the living room, he passes through a polite smile and nod, a promise to see them once he has a drink in hand. As he expected, his people are all around the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got the good stuff?” he asks Cyd, a Manhattan in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Passable,” she grouses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your cheery mood? Days away from Christmas, company officially one old white man lighter, two weeks without me haunting your office, you should be thrilled,” he jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These things always remind me of funerals,” she huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a weird blow, explains a lot about how the upper levels of Waystar view their lives, he makes a face to Jeff, a younger guy who’s leading up reforms at Cruises, who he genuinely likes. “Well that’s depressing Cyd. I think I’m going to need a drink to get on your level,” he turns to the bar, settling in with a whiskey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes basketball with Jeff for a little while, watching people stream in and out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys talk to him yet?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baird? Nah, figure I’d wait till I was heading out,” Jeff says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think my presence is better felt than experienced,” Cyd replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t disagree with that Cyd, having experienced you,” Roman laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He excuses himself, uses the restroom, getting stopped by some of his Dad’s old friends on the way back. They give him that pitiful look that he’s gotten used to. He used to hate it, but now he finds it amusing. Everyone’s been going around like it’s such a hardship to be cut out of Logan Roy’s life, a man disgraced and dethroned by his own son, and these people act like it’s a difficulty. Honestly, being months out from all the early pain, he feels better than ever before. He feels like he can stand on his own two feet now, thinks maybe people in the office respect him for his abilities and personality rather than his name, knows he’s capable of things he wasn’t before.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karolina has joined the others by the time he finally makes it back. She shakes her head when he gives her big, expecting eyes, theatrically looking between her and the woman next to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman,” she greets him, “I’d like to introduce you to Aline, my wife.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aline, a pleasure, I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things,” he says as he takes her hand. Making a face to Karolina like he’s impressed but intimidated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You match all of the stories,” she offers in return and he can’t help but laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stick around the bar. He sees Shiv and Tom have arrived, settling into a corner with a couple family friend, whose face he recognizes but can’t pull their names. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiv finally makes it over to the bar, she slides up next to him, “What a pity your father couldn’t be here to celebrate this big day for Baird,” she mocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, the dinosaurs think you’re some carrier pigeon to the old man?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be, it’s just fucking well wishes and unsubtle, subtle questions,” she huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better to be the bastard then,” he jokes and she gives him an eye roll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s about to dig in harder, but a voice next to Shiv pulls his attention, “Sorry, excuse me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds so much like Gerri’s voice he does a double take, realizing it’s Hannah, her eldest daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiv smiles and apologizes in return, asking after her but clearly not caring about her answer. Roman knows he must look like a complete idiot, just staring at this woman, wide eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman,” she acknowledges, the tone is wrong but the closeness of her voice makes him feel uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hannah, “ he replies, gives her a fake smile. “Good to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiv asks something else, but they are interrupted by another blond rushes in, facing Hannah, taking her glass out of her hand, “Mom’s here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maggie, good to see you,” Shiv says a little too gleefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie glances over at them, “Hi,” turning her attention back to Hannah, dragging her away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s a little slow to process it, but realizes what Maggie said, what it means. He finishes his drink, plays at looking at his watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you flying out tonight?” Shiv asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I should actually head out,” he says, turning to the rest of the group, “Ladies, it’s been a joy, it was nice to meet you Aline. Happy Holidays, see you in the New Year!”  He puts his glass on the bar and then kisses Shiv’s cheek as he steps away. “See you across the pond.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slips into the hallway, avoiding the main room to get through the crowd, makes it halfway to the door before someone notices him, stops him with mundane pleasantries. He tries to be patient with them but more than anything wants to be out that door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s finally released, turns to leave and smashes himself directly into someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” he says, steadying himself against the woman, before dropping his hands when he realizes who it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roman,” she exhales, seemingly shocked by both the impact and his presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” It’s all he can say, he doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologizing for, if it’s everything or just their collision. He can’t pull her name out of his throat, knows it will be caught on it’s way out. His hands resting them firmly against his legs so she can’t see them shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just stare at each other for a moment. He knew this day was inevitable, that their paths will cross for the rest of her career. It was something he thought about but didn’t really consider when they started out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to say something safe, but all he can think of is “you look well,” and that feels wrong. She puts on a weird fake smile and he can just feel the fake happy voice she’s going to use, the one she’s never used on him before. He winces in preparation, which she must notice because she drops the smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around, momentarily horrified by the thought she might have a date, but no one seems to have any awareness for them. Settling back on her, he tries something safe, “I saw the Amazon piece, great work, I’m sure Bezos is thrilled,” he attempts a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just nods, tights her lips a little, “Thanks, it’s a great team,” she replies blandly, maybe a little frustrated, the way she used to get when he vetoed everything she wanted to ask about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve actually got a flight to catch” he says, looking towards the door, “it was great,” he starts to say out of pure instinct but stops himself, clears his throat a little, “seeing you.” He clenches his jaw, wishing he felt less like a weak willed weasel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just nods, maybe a little sad, her lips pursed in a way that makes him want to slide his hand in her hair and pull her closer, kiss away whatever shitty mood he’s caused her, but he’s not allowed to do that anymore. Was never allowed to do that here, in public, in front of her friends, in real life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas,” he says as he steps past her, carrying himself through the front door to the car outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes it to the apartment to grab his bags, but can’t help himself, detouring to his bedroom and picking up the still untouched envelope she left for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entire car ride he flips it over in his hands again and again, slides his thumb across the seal. He boards the jet, requesting just a bottle of water, settling into a seat, envelope still in hand. At cruising altitude he checks his phone, nothing of importance, nothing enough to distract him from his shaking hands and fluttering stomach. His mind has already decided what it intends to do, it just can’t quite get his body on board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a sip of water, sets his jaw, clenches his fists, and then unseals his fate, sliding his finger under the flap. She has stationary, neat, tasteful stationary she writes handwritten notes on. He can picture it, all properly set up in her home office, he’s seen her step into to take a call, or do work early in the morning while she leaves him to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His finger ghosts over his name, perfect script, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roman</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like he always wanted his name to look coming from his hand. It’s a little bit too much, he can’t look away, has to finally commit to reading it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Roman -</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You surprised me everyday. In big ways and small, you were a constant surprise. I used to pride myself on my inability to be surprised, but then you. Your texts and speeches, your jokes and insecurities, your incredible, humbling ability to get knocked down and stand back up. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I told myself this story, filled with what you were going through, what you wanted, needed, and how it mapped to me. There was a list of things I could offer you: support, comfort, advice, but it kept growing. I wanted to give more and I knew you’d willingly take. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I treated you unfairly. I was flippant and ungracious, insensitive, all things I would be unwilling to allow if I was in your position. For that I am sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are unmatched in so many ways even if you are a little creep. I would hate for you to ever doubt that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>- G</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His tears wet the page before he realizes he’s crying, pushing the page away to avoid soiling it further. He counts his breaths, feeling dizzied, both empty and full. He’s not sure what happens until they’re taxing the jet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiv and Tom arrive the next day. Kendall the day after. Caroline spending the week in a world class mood. It strikes him for the first time, in a castle on Christmas Eve, with his sibling and only parent who talks to him, how fucking lonely he’s felt his entire life. He maybe hates everyone in the world but one person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kendall asked him to be his best man. Stewy got the honor at the first wedding, figures it’d be bad luck to do that twice. It’s an annoyingly perfect May afternoon, no sign of rain, the only thing their combined riches couldn’t buy. They’ve taken over Tern Haven, apparently at Nan’s insistence. He feels a little like a wolf in the hen house, Kendall’s life now entrenched in the Pierces’ world, all but him leaving Logan Roy’s legacy behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceremony was blissfully short, watching his brother dazed by his bride, repeating a Shakespeare sonnet as vows. He’s finally excused from photos and he heads into the house, looking to escape the madness for a little while. Cousin Greg has cornered him twice already, looking for help at getting a promotion, which he absolutely doesn't want to get involved in, but likely will end up making a call about it in the morning. He slips into the empty lounge. It’s funny to think his brother is marrying someone he met in this room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He runs his fingers along the windowsill, sits down and watches the guests mill about on the lawn. He isn’t bothered when the door opens, figures it’s one of Kendall’s new friends looking for a place to do whatever sober people do at weddings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” a voice says softly across the room, pulling his attention, not quite trusting his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s gorgeous, in a blue floral dress, it looks delightfully soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” he breaths, uncertain if it’s the atmosphere or something else that makes him feel so wistful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Gerri offers in return, giving an uncharacteristic wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands, a little awkwardly, but approaches to a respectable distance. “You look beautiful,” he confesses, eyes slipping down her dress then back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she smiles, a genuine smile he hasn’t seen in what feels like a century. It warms him, fills him with such terrible, stupid hope he doesn’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a noise in the hallway, and it ends up being one of the groomsmen, calling Roman back to his duties. He apologizes before slipping out, offering her a nod in passing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speeches go fine, much better than at Shiv’s wedding. Everyone is weepy and sentimental, lots of therapy talk he’s become accustomed to in his own life and with Kendall. It’s a dry event, which he thought would make it unnecessarily more miserable, but he’s impressed by how quickly it’s passing. He dances with Kendall’s kids to the terrible pop songs that play early on. Takes Shiv’s hand for a slow number, so Tom can nurse a stepped on toe. He disappears to pee, wandering slowly back across the empty lawn, under a sky full of light and air pollution from the city. He can see past the reception tent, a figure in the distance, a silhouette he’d recognize for the rest of his life. He meanders over, trying to come up with something to say, before he arrives but comes up empty. Just steps to her side silently with only a smile to offer her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just stand there for a while, silence between them as they listen to the music in relative darkness. The music slows down, some Adele cover of a Bob Dylan song. It’s a terrible impulse but he turns and offers her a hand, “May I have this dance?” he asks, sounding like a squeaky teenager, but doesn't regret it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It’s a shaky minute, her searching his face before accepting his hand, sliding into his arms. They just sway, which is fine by him, happy to have her in his arms, feel her, smell her, be with her again. She exhales slowly, settles further into him, head on his shoulder. He buries his face into her hair, will stay like that for however long she allows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song ends and another starts and he isn’t sure how much time passes but eventually, she murmurs into his chest, “Do you want to get out of here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls back from his arms to read his face, difficult as it is in the darkness, but links her fingers into his, a life line. He just nods, allows her to pull him back through the party, grabbing their things, saying goodbyes, before finally stepping out into the summer night, fingers still interlaced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the incredible delay. Thank you all for making it to the end of this with me, something that was supposed to be short and sweet but grew into more.</p><p>Hope everyone is having a safe and good holiday season, may 2021 be exponentially better than 2020. You all made my 2020 brighter and I am exceedingly grateful to you for that. </p><p>❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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